


Flashing Lights and Fleeting Moments

by Blackforestfire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Dave Strider - Freeform, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Dave has minor anxiety, Hollywood, M/M, Minor Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6376447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackforestfire/pseuds/Blackforestfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider has it made. He's made his first movie and is about to screen his second. To keep his busy life in order, he hires a young secretary called John. John is everything he could need; orderly, efficient, and regrettably attractive. Despite Dave's best attempts, John starts to worm his way into his personal life, uprooting the calm he's worked so hard to maintain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Mr. Strider? Your two o’clock appointment is here!”

Your head snaps up at the voice from your phone speaker and it takes you a minute to process what was said. Your brain scrambles to come back down to earth as your secretary sighs over the speaker and reminds you, rather kindly, that you have an interview today for an event-planner since you are “um, well, rather bad at that sort of thing, dear”.

“Right, right, event planner, keeping my ducks in a row for the eventual massacre. Feathers everywhere. That reminds me,” you blabber as you frantically straighten your desk, “I’m going to need lots of feathers for my new movie. Like, more than five.”

“I’m sending your appointment in,” you secretary says pleasantly over your rambling.

“Maybe six!” you squawk in return, slamming a desk drawer shut and hastily patting down your suit as the door opens.

“Mr. Strider?”

You finally look up and blink in surprise at the man standing uncertainly in your doorway. He’s got windswept black hair and lovely tan skin from the California sun that your own pasty white skin despises. He’s got blue eyes that deserve some long-winded metaphor that your brain is already cooking up as you gape at him.

“I’m here for the interview about being your event-planner?” He adds on, obviously taking in your stunned expression as a negative.

“Oh! Oh right, yeah, sit down,” you try to regain some semblance of dignity by gesturing to the plush leather chair in front of your desk. You instead knock over a paper holder and send a wave of probably important documents tumbling off your desk.

“Fuck.”

The guy giggles and then straightens his features as you cock an eyebrow at him. “Heh, sorry. Want help with that?”

“I’d say yes but judging by my streak today I’d probably light them all on fire or something,” you say as he sits down, sliding his resume towards you.

“I’m John Egbert, by the way,” he grins and offers you his hand, which you quickly shake. “I graduated from—”

“Yeah not interested,” you say, leaning back and flicking the papers away. “My interviewing style is pretty straight forward, I just need you to answer these questions.”

John perks up and grins. “Shoot away, Mr. Strider.”

“Cool. Number 1, can you make up convincing lies to get me out of boring social events on the spot?”

“Lie? Why would I do that? You definitely had a wardrobe malfunction and are too distraught to show your face in public. I’m calling your therapist right now.” John’s eyes crinkle slightly but otherwise his poker face is on point.

“I’m crying as we speak. On the inside. I had a free peep-show and I shall never regain my dignity as a high class escort. Only street corners for me now,” you sniff and wipe away an imaginary tear.

“I can still make sure middle aged men shell out twice as much for you than any other street hooker,” John says brightly, and you make a show of fanning yourself and simpering.

“Alright, next question. How comfortable are you in drag?”

John’s eyebrows raise a bit but to his credit, he doesn’t react beyond that. “Depends. I have short legs so I have to wear floor length stuff or my legs look stubby.”

“I respect that. I’m a ball gown gal myself. Finally, last question.”

You look at him and pause for dramatic effect.

“Do you know where I can get 100 bedazzled feathers?”

John pauses, chewing on his lower lip as he thinks. “Have you checked your closet? There’s no way you haven’t gone as a stripper at least one Halloween when you were young. You can rip up the boa and repurpose it!”

“Shit you’re totally right. First assignment, go to my apartment and find that boa.” You rummage through your drawers and find your house key. You toss it at him and grin when he fumbles it.

“I, really? I’m hired?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “My secretary will tell you where to go. I’d check the guest room first, it’s towards the back of the place near the fish tank.”

“Let me guess, the fish tank is filled with plastic fish or something?” John says, his grin growing with every second.

“Close. See you later, John.” You wave your fingers at him and watch him go, your eyebrows shooting up when you realize your new event planner is packing some nice booty. The second your door closes you grab your phone call your secretary, asking if she knew the ass-status on Egbert and to snap a pic just for you.

Instead you get a picture of the two of them grinning and waving which makes you roll your eyes in defeat.

Still, it’s very worth it when Egbert comes back three hours later covered in feathers and asking why the every loving fuck did you put your younger brother in a fish tank and oh my god how long as that kid been in there?

When he leaves you call your brother to tell him Egbert passed the test and you have a new event planner.

You get ten minutes of snark and sass for your troubles because apparently he’s mad your new event planner ran off with the feather boas.

Oh well.

\---

Your new event planner is hot. He’s like the perfect combination of California-sexy and normal sexy and damn you want to tap that. You feel a little guilty about it but it’s mostly harmless on your part. The mostly is because you’ve spent a lot of nights telling your brother, Dirk, about how cute Egbert’s butt is and you think you might’ve scarred him.

Bad parent. It’s you.

“Mr. Strider?”

“Mmm?” You look up at the owner of said butt and realize you’ve been spacing out again.

John has taken to his new job with surprising speed. It only took him one day to realize you’re full of shit and definitely don’t know what the hell you’re doing. He spent the rest of the week teasing you about it.

He’s giving you a ‘really?’ look now, right down the slope of his cute nose.

“I was saying you have a bunch of things coming up this week,” he waves his planning book at you and whoa, that’s a lot of colored sticky notes.

“How many things? And how many of those things involve me leaving this office or speaking to reporters?”

“A lot of them, but I managed to scare off that blonde reporter from the evening news. She was asking about your love life and I might’ve insinuated that you had a Puerto Rican lover a few years ago who you never got over and she needed to give you time to coddle your fragile emotional state.”

“It’s true. Bacardi ripped my heart out.”

“That’s a Cuban liquor, but nice try,” John says, not looking up from his book.

“John! I’m very fragile right now! My emotions are like a thin layer of sparkling ice and you just tap danced right across that river of death. Look out, the ice is breaking and feelings are rushing forth. I hope you brought scuba equipment because now you’re in deep. Going to talk about all this bro, bring out the ice cream and get ready to braid hair because the timid little deer that is my emotional psyche just watched its mother die. Bambi is scarred and needs five years of therapy to get through this. Or, maybe, a week of no appointments?”

“Uh huh, well if that’s the case then you get to call your producer and tell him why you’ll be missing the fancy dinner dedicated to your new movie.”

“Movioe,” you correct glumly, “it’s the sequel to Moovee.”

“Right. Well who else can remember that horse shit? That’s right, only you. So you’re going,” John decides, snapping his book shut and giving you a wicked smile.

Damn him and his beautiful ass. You are a weak man.

“Well if I have to go then you do too,” you blurt out. You cover your ass by giving John a pout and batting your eyelashes at him over the rim of your sunglasses. “Be my plus one?”

Unfortunately for you, John plays your game a little too well. “A date? With a strange older man from work? What would my father say?”

“I’m not old!”

John’s cheeky grin is back as he bats his eyes at you this time. “Mr. Strider, how could you take advantage of such a young child? The press would have a field day.”

“So would my Puerto Rican lover, apparently,” you grumble.

“Oh yes, he would.”

“He’s a he?”

John gives you a look you can’t quite read. “Is that a problem? I could always throw in a Brazilian babe during my next excuse.”

“No, hot Puerto Rican men are cool by me, keep it classy there, Egbert.” You shoo him away and he leaves with a wink and a wave.

You have this weird feeling that something just happened, and you have no idea what.

Still feeling a little paranoid, you tell your secretary you’re heading home for the evening and then catch cab back to your apartment.

You fiddle with your shirt cuffs and look out the window as street lights flicker by, wondering where Egbert goes after babysitting you all day. Maybe he’s got somebody waiting for him? You could see that. It would be somebody sweet and kind and very hard to hate, but damn you’re going to try anyway.

Your apartment is actually more like a condo, and by that you mean you own a penthouse. You still feel uncomfortable scanning your key to unlock your button for the elevator, but you guess you don’t want any crazies following you home.

You unlock your door and step in, sighing as you toe your shoes off and walk through your home to find your brother.

He’s in the living room like you figured, a pile of unopened books stacked in front of some grid paper that he’s busy scribbling on.

“Hey, kid,” you say, dropping down next to him and trying to peek at his work.

“What are you doing home early? Aren’t you busy being famous and giving me abandonment issues?”

“Ow,” you whine, sitting back and sulking.

“Nah you’re right,” he amends, “you’re too busy being a lecherous old man around your new event planner. What’s his name again? Jim?”

“It’s John and holy shit I’m not that old!”

Dirk finally looks at you, a smirk playing around his mouth as he puts down his pencil. “Right, John.”

You glare at him as you unbutton your jacket and toss it somewhere behind you, though it’s lost thanks to your shades. “You’re such a little shit. Have you done your homework or whatever? Your teacher might actually hurt me through the phone if during the next parent-teacher conference I tell her I have no idea what the fuck it is you’re learning. Brilliant, bright baby that I raised and all.”

Dirk’s smirk vanishes and he groans, getting up and collecting his grid paper. “Oh stop the whole parent thing, you’re a terrible actor. I’m still on physics and my teacher isn’t hot so you don’t have to impress anybody with your single dad routine.”

“I don’t do that!”

Dirk looks at you, his arms full of books now. “Oh, Mr. English,” he suddenly begins in a high pitch voice, “thank you so much for meeting with me! I’m so worried about my poor baby! I don’t have time to be around as much as I’d like, what with being a single dad working to support my precious child!”

You grab a pillow from the couch behind you and hurl it at him, finding some satisfaction when he drops his books. Unfortunately for you, he drops them on your foot.

Once the two of you settle down and stop throwing underhanded remarks at each other Dirk actually does tell you a bit about his classes. He’s been taking online courses ever since some creepy fan tried to talk to him one day after school and you completely lost your shit. Dirk had been eight and you had a lot of explaining to do afterwards to the police.

After that it was home-schooling all the way, which ended up working out perfectly thanks to Dirk’s social anxiety and your paranoia. Quite a family, you think fondly.

“Anyway, enough about me. How was work?”

“Same old stuff. I need to start working on the third SB&HJ movie though. My agent is going completely nuts, throwing numbers at me that I’m pretty sure aren’t even real. Midnight premier tickets sold out the first day man, shit was whack. I’m thinking about hosting an ‘evening pre-premier’ show just to piss everybody off.”

Dirk chuckles at that.

“The third movie is going to be hard man. You can only get away with this shit for so long before you end up a sad joke on the internet. Hmm. Maybe I’ll make it purposefully bad…”

“Bro, they’re all bad.”

“No like even worse! I’ll do all the typical clichés with washed out movie franchises, maybe even throw some soap opera shit in there. How can you get amnesia again?”

You laugh when Dirk tries to elbow you in the side and flash step away. He follows and the two of you zip around the place until you get bored. He asks more about John and you tell him about that weird conversation you had because honestly, as pathetic as it is, your little bro is the only one you can talk to like this.

He reminds you how pathetic that is and gets a noogie for a reward.

“So you like this John guy huh?” Dirk says after he finally gets away from you.

“I mean he’s chill, gets me out of social engagements if I whine enough about it. I don’t know where he comes up with these excuses though, kids like a joke shop if it sold bullshit. Like excuse me sir, how much would one ‘family death’ excuse cost? Only $19.99? Plus shipping? Shit, it’s a steal wrapped in baby blue ribbons. Slap a stamp on its ass and send it over to my place at seven for wine and music because thanks to this, I don’t have to see real people for another week.”

“Bro,” Dirk deadpans, “the rambling.”

“Right. Anyway, point is he’s my weasel.”

“Who, according to that god awful metaphor, you want to wine and dine and something about ass smacking?” Dirk’s eyebrows arch as you feel your face heat up.

“Don’t you have a bedtime?”

Dirk snorts and gets up. “Whatever, Bro. Just don’t do anything stupid, including the new guy.”

You go back over to the couch and sink into it with a groan, rubbing your face as Dirk disappears into his bedroom. You hate when he’s right. You need to tone down the weird thoughts from now on. No more ass staring, Strider. Get it together. Only day dreaming.

It lasts about one minute because oh look your phone is ringing and gosh is that John’s number?

“Hello, this is Madam Victoria’s Brothel and Escort service, how may we serve you tonight?” You answer in your worst Russian accent.

_“Oh! Well hello there. I’m looking for a very specific person.”_

“We have all kinds here, sir,” you practically purr into the phone. You hear a thump from Dirk’s room and, in a fit of rare intelligence, decide to move this to your own room to minimize childhood trauma.

_“Blonds?_ ” The voice purrs right back oh damn you are not letting him win this!

“But of course,” you grin and drop your voice just a bit. “We have them tall, short, big, shy, what are you into, baby?”

He giggles and your chest tightens as he answers, playing the shy customer way too well. _“I just want someone to be gentle with me. Do you have any socially awkward clumsy blonds with cute smiles?”_

He thinks your smile is cute? Oh you are so using this for bribing material later. “Sir, I think we have just the man for you. Tall, blond, and can’t speak more than two sentences without inserting his foot into his mouth.”

_“Perfect! Will you send him by my place around seven thirty tomorrow? I was promise a dinner date to a fancy movie event and I just can’t go alone! Much too awkward.”_

Oh shit that’s tomorrow? You need to get a suit.

As if reading your mind, John adds, _“And don’t worry, I sent over something nice for my escort to wear. I hope it fits, I got it from the name your secretary gave me.”_

Thank god. Aloud you say, “Does it come with matching underwear?” to which you get a dial tone.

Snickering, you hang up and text a thank you to your friend who designs your suits. She’s actually the partner of your best friend, but that makes her your friend by default. She sends you a lengthy text about “This John Fellow” which you decline to respond to.

You love her but damn is she nosy.

You spend the rest of the evening going over the files your secretary emailed you about the event and who was going to be there. By three am you are completely exhausted and barely manage to shimmy out of your pants before passing out on top of your covers.


	2. Chapter 2

You’re woken up by Dirk knocking at your door to let you know the suit arrived. You groan and roll over, patting around for your shades that fell off sometime during the night. You have a weird crick in your neck and you take a few seconds to work it out before getting up and beginning your preparations for tonight.

Dirk likes to call this process your ‘beauty queen time’, and you’ve done nothing to discourage this. Your shower beckons and you spend a good hour in the heat, washing yourself and day dreaming about Egbert in a dress. You bet he’s look really good in one of those tight long ones.

You get out to find you’ve steamed up the bathroom and begrudgingly move out into the bedroom to finish your work. You’ve slept through the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon anyway, so you might as well start on your makeup.

“Dirk,” you yell over your shoulder as you pull on your boxers, “come in here and do my makeup!”

“Do it yourself!” He yells back, and you whine and complain and moan until he finally comes into your room.

“Bro, at least put some damn pants on,” Dirk grumbles, digging around in a sequenced makeup bag you insist is mandatory.

“What if you get powder on them? Then I’ll have to go pant-less. What would the press say?” You give him your best doe-eyes.

“You’re such a baby, aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me or some shit?” Dirk drags a stool up and perches on it, arranging the makeup he selected on your vanity.

You grin at him and shift, turning your face so he can work on you. As he works on you, slow and meticulous as always, you try to keep your mouth from twitching into a smile. You know he loves doing this for you. It’s his main way of being involved in your life. Sure you can put on this shit by yourself and do a damn good job of it, thank you very much, but you always put up a fuss about it. You’re pretty sure he’s onto you, but it’s a truth you both ignore.

You want Dirk to be more included in your life, but your life isn’t really yours anymore. Dirk being in it means paparazzi, harassment, and a harsh spot light. You know your baby brother too well to let that happen.

“Turn,” Dirk murmurs, and you comply.

“Easy on the eyeliner this time buddy, I don’t want to look like you after one of those brainstorming frenzies.”

“Ha, ha.”

He finally pulls away and lets you look at his handiwork.

He’s kept it simple, just some foundation to even out your complexion and some black eyeliner to make your eyes pop. It’s redundant, of course, because you’ll be wearing your shades. But nevertheless, you look damn fine.

Dirk looks pretty pleased with himself too, and you purposefully ruffle his hair and tell him how you’re so proud of him.

He jerks back and flash steps away faster than ever.

What a precious little shit.

Your suit is elegant, and you can’t help but admire how pretty the tie looks against your skin. It’s your classic silk red, almost a trademark by now. The suit is a dark gray and the shirt you’re going to wear will be black. It doesn’t take you long to get it all on and then you’re left deciding on shoes.

Your friend sent over a box with brand new black shoes in it, but you think you need some more Strider-flare in your outfit.

You rummage around your closet and finally find what you’re looking for right as your phone rings, alerting you that the limo is downstairs and waiting.

You slip on the shoes and leave with a satisfied smirk on your face.

You get into the limo and ask the driver to swing by a tiny store a couple blocks away from your building before going to pick up John. The ride is brief, though you started tapping on your knee half way there as your nerves started to creep up on you.

The car pulls up in front of the shop you requested. It’s a small, light green place covered in wind chimes and hanging flowerpots. The entire place looks a little herby, but it’s family-run and you’ll be damned if any big-chain franchise gets a single dollar out of you.

You get out and hurry into the small store, looking around briefly before snatching a dozen red roses up and grinning as you approach the counter.

“I’ll take these, please.”

The lady nods and rings them up for you. “Would you like them wrapped?”

“Yeah, sure, do you have anything blue?”

Ten minutes later and one autograph for a highly energetic child, you’re back in the limo and on your way.

The drive isn’t too long and soon enough you’re pulling up to a small house just outside the main hustle and bustle of your own area. It’s cute and tiny, covered in vines and oh my god it has a white picket fence Jesus Egbert, really?

You get out and walk to the door, clutching the flowers and suddenly wondering if this is a bit much. You can almost hear Dirk chiding you and you mentally shake yourself before putting on your best seduction face.

John opens the door to see you lounging on the door frame and making a kissy face.

“No.”

You quickly catch the door right as he goes to slam it on your face and laugh. “Just kidding, I swear! Here, look, I got you these.”

John re-opens the door cautiously and looks surprised when you offer him the flowers.

“These aren’t, like, laced with something, are they?” He looks skeptical when you shake your head but accepts them anyway.

“Thanks, give me one minute I’ll be right back!”

You try not to let those weird fluttery thoughts back near you as you see John’s wearing a very nice suit. It’s tight in all the right places and damn how did you not spot his shoulders and chest before?

“Dave, stop staring,” John chides you as he brushes past, closing the door behind him.

“You called me Dave.” Is all you can think to say as you both head to the limo.

To his credit, he does look a little embarrassed. “Yeah, uh, only for tonight though. It’d be weird if your date called you ‘Mr. Strider’, right?”

“Yeah,” you say absentmindedly, thinking about how much better your real name sounded when he said it. Maybe you can get him to keep calling you Dave during work?

You both get into the car and head off to your event.

It’s a brief affair, in comparison to your premier shows or charity events. The entire thing is supposed to be a nice dinner for everybody who worked on the movie and some music. Minimal paparazzi.

You pull up to the hotel where this thing is being held and pause of a second to collect yourself. The press is already there and the flashing lights are giving you a headache.

It’s exactly then you hear John say, “Are you wearing light-up sneakers!?”

You open the door with a big grin on your face, proudly strutting up the carpet with John on your arm who can’t stop looking at your shoes.

Damn right you’re wearing light-up sneakers.

“Welcome, Mr. Strider. Please follow me,” says a lady who meets you at the other end of the walk. She leads the two of your to a ballroom which has been decorated as a dining room. There’s a large space up front for dancing and you see the band getting ready.

“This place is a lot fancier than you let on,” John mumbles, sticking close by you as you head in.

“Wait until the after party once my movie airs, you’ll love it,” you mutter back, and then start greeting people.

It’s exhausting, but John keeps coming up with hilarious answers every time somebody asks who he is with a too-tight smile.

“I’m his seeing-eye companion,” John says brightly to one lady and her husband.

You keep your lips pressed in a thin line and nod somberly.

“Oh my! You’re blind? My gosh I had no idea,” the lady practically whispers, her hands fluttering helplessly. “A blind movie director! How different!”

You spin a brief tale of woe, ‘I was blinded saving a kitten from a fire’, accompanied by John’s perfectly timed sniffles and comforting pats to your shoulder.

You move away from the couple and finally dissolve into giggles as you hear her say behind you, “Goodness gracious no wonder he’s wearing those shoes, he doesn’t know! Poor boy!”

Your agent grabs you next and this time you actually introduce John. “Hey, Vantas, check out my hot date.”

Sort of.

Your agent, Karkat Vantas, gives you a scathing look, ignoring John completely. “Strider, I have had three people come up to me tonight asking me when you started adopting deaf kids from Russia. Separately.”

“By the way,” you add quickly, “I’m thinking about holding a pre-premier show before the midnight premier.”

Your agent stares at you.

John frowns and gives you a little nudge. “Uh, Dave? I think you broke him.”

“Nah, he’s just trying not to kill me in front of so many witnesses,” you wink at your slowly reddening agent and hurry away.

“He’s a great guy,” you tell John as you tote him towards the drink table, “more bark than bite I promise. Ah, here we go.”

You detach John from your arm and grab two glasses of Champaign. You hand him one and then allow him to reattach before continuing on your spree.

Once mingling was over and you recovered from your laughing fit in the bathroom, you and John find seats and enjoy your meal.

Without realizing it, you spend the entire night talking to John.

You introduce him properly to the people you like and John only gives you minimal sass when you call him your date. You whisper together over dessert about some of the people there and you spend a good twenty minutes telling him who had plastic surgery done.

You feel like a gossiping wife as the music picks up tempo after dinner and people begin to dance.

“We should dance,” John says thoughtfully, watching a few couples twirl around.

“Should, maybe, but can we? Definitely not.” You try to make a beeline for more drinks but John intercepts you with an arm around your waist.

“Come on Mr. Light-Ups, lets go dance for a bit,” he grins and tugs you over, despite your grumbling.

You make sure to stomp around a lot to get the full effect of your sneakers going. That, and it makes John laugh every time you do it.

You both make your way through a couple simple dances, him guiding you, until he finally ends your little event by dipping you at the waist.

All in all you are very happy.

“You know,” John says after you both find a more removed area to rest, “this isn’t so bad. Most people here are really nice and the food was good.”

You nod and loosen your tie. “Yeah, these things can be fun if you’re with the right person.”

John gives you a sly look. “Am I that person?”

“You tell me, Mr. Vladimir Kablukov.”

You both snicker and spend the rest of the event lying low and watching people mingle.

Finally it reaches an appropriate hour for you both to escape. You make your excuses, grab another couple glasses of Champaign, and drag your giggling date after you as you high-tail it out of there.

John almost falls into your lap as you both dive into the limo—you think this one is yours—and laugh as it drives off.

“Shit, Dave, you stole those glasses,” John scrambles to sit up as you try not to spill the drinks on him.

“Aw fuck, oh well, souvenir!”  

You toast to a good night and finish your drinks right as the limo pulls up to John’s house. You set your glass down and tell the driver to wait as you stumble out after him.

“Walking me to my door? Such a gentleman,” John steadies you and you smile at him.

“I always treat my dates right,” you say as you walk him up.

Your shoes light up the small stones leading up to his house and he shakes his head fondly as you giggle and tap your heels together.

He opens his door and you turn to go, only to pause when he calls you back.

“Dave?”

You look over. “Yeah?”

John’s got that look again, the one that makes you wonder if you’re missing something or he’s about to pull the rug out from under you. “You said you always treat your dates right, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well where’s my goodnight kiss?”

Your eyes widen briefly behind your shades. Before you know it you are back up onto the porch and facing him. He’s a little flushed and his lips are curled at the corners, almost impishly. Then he’s reaching forward and cupping your face in one of his hands, bringing you down to his level. You don’t resist, letting him step into your personal space as he leans up and kisses you.

It’s a sweet press of lips against your own, soft and warm.

He lingers for barely an instant before drawing back and smiling up at you. “Goodnight, Dave.”

“Night, John,” you say dumbly, watching him vanish into his house before turning and getting back in your car.

You sit quietly on the ride back, running your fingers over your stolen glass. John took the other. You thank the driver and tip him when you get back, all in some sort of haze. Your body feels hot and flushed and you think drinking so much wasn’t the best idea.

You’re quiet when you unlock the door, it’s very late and you don’t want to disturb Dirk even though he’s probably awake and waiting to hear about your night.

Instead you head to your room and close your door.

You slowly take off your makeup and carefully hang you suit up on the closet door. Your glass goes on your night stand and you crawl into bed naked.

Moonlight is filtering through your curtains and hitting the crystal glass. You watch, mesmerized, as you spin it slowly and make it wink and shine in the darkness of your room.

Distantly, you hear Dirk turn off his light and go to bed.

You’ll talk to him tomorrow.

You stare at the glass and replay the night.

John on your arm, uncertain and awkward. John telling people you were tragically blinded and needed an escort. John giggling behind his menu with you as you gossiped. John dancing. John holding you. John kissing you.

You feel hot under the sheets so you kick them off, your mind lazily bringing back the sensations to go with your memories.

His lips had been so soft.

Your hand creeps up to touch the side of your face where his hand had been.

You feel a little silly, but nothing like that has ever happened to you.

Especially not since you got Dirk.

John treats you like a person. He doesn’t act like you’re some big shot movie director. He doesn’t bend over backwards to please you.

He kissed you.

It makes you ache and your body practically shivers as you replay it again. He was so close, you bet if you’d moved another inch he’d have been pressed against you.

You can picture it so well, his broad chest against yours and his sun-kissed arms wrapping around your waist.

A tiny noise escapes your lips as you imagine him kissing you differently. Of him pushing you against his door and holding you there with his body. You imagine his kiss with more passion, more heat, his tongue in your mouth and his teeth pulling at your lower lip.

You don’t realize you’re touching yourself until you think of how he’d say your name if you decided to kiss him like that. Your hand tightens on yourself and you whine, biting down harshly on your lower lip and stilling your hand.

Some small part of you calls you desperate, but the larger part paints a picture of John naked. John naked and on top of you and whispering your name.

Your eyes roll back and you shudder, running your hand along your achingly hard cock with no more resistance. You think about him here, on top of you, his cock rubbing against yours and his sweet, soft mouth on your neck. You turn your head to the side obediently and think of his hands.

He’s got shorter hands than you do, but broad whereas yours are long and thin. You bet his are warm and gentle, even if you wanted him to be a bit rough with you. You want him to be rough with you. You feel like you’re doing something wrong and the thought of punishment makes your nerves spark with excitement.

You want him to fuck you, and your hand movements are becoming increasingly frantic as you imagine him pulling you onto his lap in the limo and playing with your ass.

You choke back a moan as you fumble for the drawer of your nightstand, frantically yanking out the lube and messily smearing some on your fingers before continuing. You circle one around your entrance as you tease the tip of your cock, imagining John’s lips by your ear encouraging you.

_“Come on, Dave, be good for me.”_

You almost sob as you push in the first finger. It’s been so long and you’re so tight and it hurts a bit but you need it to hurt. You need it to hurt or otherwise you’ll be thinking of what you’re doing and how depraved it is.

The second one comes soon after as you moan and plead helplessly into your pillow.

“John, John please…” you gasp, trembling as you force them in deeper and curl them.

You can practically hear him now. _“You’re being so good, would you like a reward?”_

Your fingers find your prostate and you almost scream as you come, hot white shocks wracking your body and leaving you a shaking mess in the aftermath. Your hand and stomach are sticky and you whine pathetically as you pull your fingers out of yourself.

You manage to clean yourself up before collapsing back into your pillow and passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll left me such nice comments thank you!! Especially those of you who commented like the day this came out, ya'll are great <3  
> Enjoy this chapter, let me know how you like it!


	3. Chapter 3

You wake up in an excellent mood. You throw on your favorite bathrobe, a gift from your best friend’s well-meaning girlfriend, and start making yourself busy in the kitchen.

You don’t normally cook but this morning seems like a pancake morning. You got all the ingredients right on your second try and you’re flipping the first pancake when Dirk comes out.

“Bro, are you…cooking?”

“Yep. How many pancakes do you want?”

Dirk gives you a suspicious, bleary-eyed look as he shuffles over to the coffee machine. “Depends. How many are edible?”

“Oh very funny.” You flip the pancake on the plate and marvel at the unburnt edges. You get to work on the next one as Dirk hands you a cup of coffee and then seats himself on a barstool to watch. You’re pretty sure fifteen year olds shouldn’t drink as much coffee as he does but you’re not exactly the pinnacle of health with your diet of fast food and apple juice.

“So how was the dinner?”

You shrug and serve another pancake. “Same as usual.”

“Mhm,” Dirk says as he sips his coffee, and despite the fact he’s only half awake you get the prickling feeling he knows something.

Your phone buzzes, distracting you briefly, and you grin at the message on the screen. “Hey, kid.”

Dirk grunts absently.

“Want to come to the pre-premier of my new movie?”

That gets Dirk’s attention.

You know he loves your movies and, despite how embarrassed you are, he’s got a few posters of them in his room. He can claim irony all he wants but you know he’s your number one fan. Despite this, you never take him to the midnight premiers or cast parties afterwards. You’re too paranoid something will happen to him.

You look over and see him staring at you. He left his shades in his room, as did you, and you can easily read the surprise on his face.

“Really?”

Your chest twinges with guilt. You really need to spend more time with him.

“Yeah, it’s family and friends only. What do you say? It’ll be tomorrow night in the recording studio under my office.”

“I, holy shit yes, wow,” Dirk breathes, and then flushes and quickly takes a large gulp of coffee.

You grin and slide him a stack of pancakes.

He’s a little skeptical for the rest of the day, you can tell by his subtle attempts to check if he’s still going or not.

“Hey, Bro?”

You look up from the couch and see him fidgeting. “Yeah, kid?”

“What should I wear to this thing?”

You keep your expression as neutral as possible. “A onesie.”

He nods and leaves.

The next time you’re working on the script for your next movie when he comes in. You have the day off, you always do after a big event, but you still try and get a little work done nonetheless.

“Hey, Bro?”

You glance over to see Dirk hovering in the doorway. “Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“We should leave here around 9:30.”

“Cool.”

The final time you see him start edging over is the afternoon of the pre-premier. You catch him before he begins to say anything and give him a big grin.

“You ready for tonight, little man?”

He gives you a quick nod and leaves.

You turn back to your phone and scroll through the news articles you were looking at. Nobody seems to have gotten wind of your little pre-showing, and you feel oddly giddy about it.

Only a few important people will be there and you insisted that the whole thing be, quote, “a teenage girl slumber party theme”, which made your agent practically explode.

After he was finished ranting about ‘professionalism’ and ‘no you can’t wear bunny slippers god dammit Strider’, you asked him to come and bring a plus one.

He looked a little caught off guard by that but agreed.

Your party should consist of you, your brother, your agent and his plus one, and the main actors with whoever they bring. Since you double as the screen writer and the director, there weren’t going to be a lot of people.

You preferred it that way. Small, cozy, and perfect for pillow fights.

You look back down at your screen and chew on your lip.

You’ve been staring at an unsent text for almost an hour now, debating with yourself if you should send it.

You really want John to be there.

You know everybody is bringing a close friend or family member, and you know you could get away with bringing both, but you did make it very specific that only the main workers of your movie could come.

John only hopped on board right as it was done, so he definitely didn’t count.

But you wanted him there. It was your movie dammit.

But that would be weird, even for you.

It’s your damn pre-premier you can bring whoever you want!

Only close friends and family. John is neither.

You groan and toss your phone away. This was way too difficult.

You mess around for a while, trying on different pajamas and wondering if wearing a robe would be too much. You almost go out and buy a night gown before remembering you’re going with your kid and probably need to set a good impression or some bullshit.

You never send the text.

Dirk is ready at exactly 9:30. He knocks on your door and you open it to find him in a rainbow dash onesie.

He appraises your own pajamas, a gift from a long time ago. They’re red and have a funny gear thing on the chest. They’re incredibly soft and for some reason never stop looking brand new. Plus they have a cape.

“Ready?”

Dirk nods and hands you the car keys.

The drive there is quick and uneventful. Nobody will know about this until you start live-tweeting it half way through and by then you’ll have Dirk bundled under your arm and out the door the second you sense danger.

“Bro, chill, seriously,” Dirk grumbles as you pull him closer to you for the firth time since leaving the car.

“I am chill! Chill as ice, ice that’s been doing a lot of self-reflecting recently and realizes it’s made of better things. Icier things. Ice so damn blue it belongs under glaciers older than yo mamma—”

“Hi, Dave!”

You cut off with a high pitched choking sound and whip around, dragging Dirk with you, to see John and your agent standing behind you.

Vantas looks pissed as usual, but the terror is offset slightly by the fact he’s wearing superhero pajamas. And standing next to him is…

“John?”

John beams at you, all sparkly smile and innocence. “Hi! Karkat invited me to this thingy you’re having. Oh, is that your brother?”

Dirk looks at you right as you sputter, “Did you just call my agent _Karkat?_ ”

The agent in question gives you a scathing look. “Yes, Strider, believe it or not I do have a real name. John and I went to college together, which you would have known if you’d spent more than five minutes talking to somebody last night rather than giggling with him behind your menu.”

“Bro?” Dirk says, something like a warning in his voice.

John is smiling at you and your agent looks rather pleased with himself and oh my god you’re going to die and you just know John is somehow behind this whole thing.

“I’m Dirk,” Dirk says, interrupting your heart attack to shake John’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to see you out of the fish tank!” John replies, and Dirk smirks.

“It was a tight fit. How’d those feather boas work out for you? Usually my brother waits before pulling out the kinky shit. Doesn’t like to scare people off so quick.”

“Uh!” John goes, and you grab Dirk and haul him inside before any more damage is done.

What a little shit.

You’re a bit proud.

You distract Dirk by introducing him to the two actors who play Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. You’d texted them beforehand about this and they were more than eager to meet your brother, thank god. Dirk, naturally, acted aloof as ever. He shook their hands, complimented their work, got their autographs, thanked them, and then went to find a private corner to have a silent freak-out.

You explain his sudden social attitude by the fact everyone is in pajamas and Ben Stiller complimented his rainbow dash onesie. That would cure anyone.

You have the place set up with massive beanbag chairs, blankets, and an absurd amount of pillows. Dirk immediately grabs a bean bag and accepts a bag of popcorn from a server—also dressed in pajamas.

The rest of your small party settles down in bean bags or the floor. You find yourself a seat in a pile of blankets, cocooning yourself up until only your head is visible. You have an eye on Dirk and the movie screen, which makes your mother-hen instincts preen happily.

That is, until John sits next to you.

“Hey Dave!” he whispers loudly, grabbing a pillow and getting comfortable next to you right as the room goes dark.

The next hour and half were the longest of your life. You don’t think you were even aware of what was happening on the screen at any given point. You were too busy trying not to look at John and looking too often at Dirk to see if he noticed you trying not to look at John.

John spent the majority of the movie giggling and murmuring little comments in your ear.

You have no idea what he said. All you remember is a little puff of warm air on your neck and his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered to you.

Dirk never looked once your way, but then again he could have been glancing at you behind his shades and you would never know.

You’re aware, dimly, of people laughing and groaning at the antics on the screen. Some distant part of you counts this as a success, and some prideful voice in your mind says you should be using this to get John to like you even more. But you can’t get over how close he is and holy shit his hand is on your thigh and yes it’s through like four blankets and your pajamas but it’s still there.

You wonder if your face is red as John shifts closer and asks you something, to which you absently reply.

His hand vanishes and that snaps you back into reality right as the movie screen goes dark and the lights flicker on.

Dirk turns to you with a grin and goes, “Dude”.

Someone slaps you on the back and you look around to see your agent giving you a grudging smile. “You did it again, Strider. Another heaping pile of shit to throw at the brainwashed audiences. Congratulations.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart,” you automatically respond, earning a disapproving huff and a pillow in your face.

John laughs and you hurry away to go congratulate the actors on a show of truly ironically horrible acting.

Dirk comes with you and sticks by your side a little more than before as you talk to them. He’s quiet, watching you in your element as you chatter and laugh and not look at John. You do however have the presence of mind to know when your kid has reached his social quota for the day.

“Alright guys good work! Nobody show up to the premier, it’ll piss off the press,” you call out as you rapidly start firing tweets out into the void of the internet.

“See you at the after party, Strider,” Vantas calls, and you look up to see him and John leaving. Thank god.

“Ready to go home, kid?” You ask, pocketing your phone as it starts to vibrate violently in response to your “leaked” tweets.

Dirk nods and you head out to the car, making sure to send a couple more posts about the pre-premier event before finally driving home.

You’re both quiet during the ride back. You get up to your penthouse and then check your phone to see what sort of mayhem you stirred up. You grin when you notice one of your main actors got in on it too, confirming the leaked tweets and sending fans into a complete frenzy.

“Hey, Bro?”

You look up from your phone to see Dirk still standing near the front door. He looks really young in that ridiculous onesie you got him a few Christmas’s ago, and it makes you feel oddly sad.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for tonight.”

You slip your phone in your pocket and walk over, giving him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. That’s about as much as you can do to express yourself without him teasing you about it for weeks. “No problem, kid.”

Dirk hesitates for a second and then says, “Hey, uh, what’s with you and that John guy? He’s just your event planner, right?”

Your heart freezes as you immediately adopt a little smirk. “Aw kid, don’t worry. You’ll always be number one in my heart. No stepmother will infiltrate this Strider household! Apple of my eye, child of my bosom—”

“Ugh, Bro, stop,” Dirk grumbles, shoving past you and heading towards his room. He pauses at the door and looks at you for a second. “Just…be careful, okay?”

With that he vanishes and shuts the door.

You’re left to puzzle over that for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an event planner who you take on fake-dates and ogle over hmmmmmm???
> 
> Let me know what ya'll think! As always, i love your comments <3


	4. Chapter 4

You really think Dirk should’ve given that warning to John rather than you. You’re the one feeling especially lecherous as you get ready for work the next morning. You can’t stop thinking about how John whispered to you the previous evening and it’s giving you goosebumps.

Dirk isn’t up by the time you have to go so you leave the usual amount of money in the microwave for emergencies (pizza) and a note telling him not to have any wild parties while you’re out.

You don’t have much to do today except work on your next script and meet with the merchandise designer a bit after lunch, so you stroll into your building later than usual.

“Mr. Strider,” your secretary  says with a smile, “you’re late.”

“I sure am,” you sigh happily. It’s nice being your own boss.

Your office is above the recording studio and mostly doubles as a meeting room/creative space. Due to that it’s got papers everywhere and a lot of shitty shuttershock pictures on your walls. At least it did, because when you walk in your papers are organized.

In _stacks_.

You scream in horror and scare the hell out of somebody elbow deep in a filing cabinet.

“Augh! Dave!” John yelps, jerking up and hitting his head on an open drawer above him.

“My mess!” you wail, as John curses and clutches his head.

“My head!”

You pause the drama queen act for a second to hurry over and make sure there’s no lasting brain damage. You kneel by John and bat his hands away, frowning as you inspect his head. Dirk bumped into things a lot as a kid so you can figure out pretty quickly if it’s serious or not.

“I think we’ll have to amputate,” you announce gravely.

“Will I live, Dr. Strider?” John says, giving you big doe eyes that make you snort.

“Definitely not. That’s what you get for touching my mess. Look at it! It’s in files!”

“Damn right it is,” John says proudly, shutting the drawers to the filing cabinet and standing up. “I got here on time and you were late, so this is what happened. Want me to explain the system?”

“It’s all messed up!” you complain, hurrying over to your desk to inspect the damage.

“Ah, yeah, I didn’t touch anything that looked like your script. By the way,” John adds, following you over as you rifle through your papers, “why the hell do you hand write everything? Computers exist, dude.”

“You know what else exists? Hackers. Technology malfunctions. Nosy event planners who hide all my stuff.”

“It’s clearly labeled!” John protests.

“Gone forever,” you wail.

“You are such a baby oh my god,” John groans, rolling his eyes. “I thought Dirk would’ve raised you better than that.”

“He tried,” you sniffle, looking at your floor for the first time in months. You forgot it was carpeted.

“Hey, uh, listen,” John says, and you get an odd sense of déjà vu. “I didn’t really get to ask you this last night. But, um, was it okay that I kissed you?”

You blink, looking up from your papers. “Oh. I sort of forgot about that.”

You are so lying.

“Oh, okay.” John is staring very intently at the newly discovered carpet.

“But, uh,” you tug on your tie and lean back in your chair, wondering when the room got so damn hot. “It was fine. Good, even. But that’s just because it’s almost impossible to mess up a kiss with a Strider. We’re sex machines. Programmed for a good time.”

Oh my god shut up this is awful you’re awful.

John laughs and you remember to breathe again. “Oh, haha, sure you are. If it’s okay then…”

You don’t realize what’s happening as John leans in, his eyes hooded and mischievous. When your brain finally catches up you suddenly have a lapful of event planner. You have no idea how he got there.

This kiss is a lot less innocent than the first. He’s got his arms around your neck and his chest against yours as he kisses you, still sweet but with a hint of something a little more. More passion, more need. You don’t know.

Your hands find his waist and you kiss him back, heart pounding as your feel a tiny smirk form on his lips. One of your hands travels up and tangles in his hair, holding him close to you for a couple more precious seconds before he finally pulls away.

His lips are pink and his cheeks are probably as flushed as yours are. You’re so grateful for your shades because your eyes are so wide right now you probably look like a deer in headlights.

“Sorry for rearranging your stuff,” John says, barely above a whisper. He gives you a chaste kiss and then slides off your lap, vanishing out the door with a little wave.

You make a tiny noise and slide down your chair.

You remain in a happy stupor for a couple more hours until John sends you a reminder text about your meeting today. He adds a winky face and you spend twenty minutes on the internet googling what that means because you’re too afraid to ask Dirk.

When your merchandise designer comes you’re the pinnacle of nonchalant. Your poker face game is on an all-time high and you even found your notes labeled ‘bullshit ideas’ to go over with. You are particularly fond of the t-shirt with the pixelated face of SB&HJ blown up on it. Everything looks fuzzy and awful and you love it.

Your merchandise designer looks a little weary but mentions posters as well which you eagerly sign off on.

Once your meeting ends you sort through the papers on your desk and find the part of the script you were working on yesterday. Humming to yourself you begin doodling along the margins as you think about how you could possibly make this movie—moov-E?—more silly yet sincere than the others. You might ask Dirk later, he always has some good ideas once you get him past the horse phase.

There’s a knock on your door and you call out for them to come in without looking up from your scratchy drawings. Maybe a scene where they fight an evil fish alien from space? Man you have some random ideas sometimes.

“Dave?”

You look up over the rim of your shades and see John and his alarmingly full planner sitting in front of you.

“Please tell me the adoption agency called and said they found my birth mom,” you say in a deadpan, like your heart rate didn’t double when you saw him there.

“They sure did, and she’s a he now and works in a strip club with your birth dad as his pimp,” John replies evenly.

“Aw, I’m happy for them.”

“In other news, your midnight premier is tomorrow and the after party starts before that due to your pre-premier thing. Do you still want to go?”

“Hell yeah, the after parties are great. Call the guy decking out his mansion for us and see if he’ll allow a petting zoo.”

“Petting zoo?”

You nod. “I have a weird craving to pet a goat. Plus, if I’m lucky, it’ll eat Vantas.”

John snickers and writes something down in his book. “I think Karkat is too tough and stringy for even a goat.”

“Don’t speak its name!” You throw your hands up in mock terror. “It hears all!”

John gives you an unamused look and shuts his book with a snap. “Uh huh. So you’ll definitely be there?”

“Yeah,” you cock your head at him and set your pencil down. “Why? Need an escort around all the scary rich people?”

“No, I was just making sure,” John says quickly. “Besides, you’re not scary.”

You would try and argue, but you’re honestly not in the mood to pull out the strict-parent voice. “Alright well I’m pretty much done here. You got anything else to tell me before I make my daring escape?”

John shakes his head and watches as you get up and stretch. You play it cool and definitely don’t bend your back so your shirt rides up just a little. Nope, none of that filth in here.

You head to the door and John follows you a step behind, and you’re all too aware of his presence. He’s a bit shorter than you, but not by much, and you pause before opening the door because something is tickling the back of your mind.

“Hey, John?”

“Yeah?” John stops just short of running into you, looking surprised.

“How old are you?”

He pauses, and you can see him calculating quickly why you’re asking this and what it could possibly be leading to. “26, why?”

He’s 26. You just turned 32 last month, not that you’d tell anyone. Besides, they might do the math and realize how old you were when Dirk came into your care and fuck you do not want to go down that creek.

“Dave?” John frowns and moves strategically in front of the door.

“Just wondering,” you say quietly, still trying to figure out if you’re a creep or not. He’s closer to your age than Dirk’s, plus. He’s also 6 years younger than you, minus. He’s hot, plus. You have no idea what you’re doing, minus.

“Dave, stop thinking,” John laughs, breaking you out of your mental fight. He reaches out and wraps his hand gently around your tie, pulling you close.

He kisses you for the third time now, and this time you have the presence of mind to kiss him back. His book falls to the floor as you press him against the door, holding him there with your body as he keeps you trapped there with your tie.

He whines when you move to his neck, kissing and nipping until you hit a spot that makes him jerk into you. His hands are in your hair, clutching and petting as he pulls you away to kiss him again. You feel one of his hands move to your back and press between your shoulder blades, and you respond with a small, eager noise.

Your shades hit his glasses and he laughs breathlessly against your lips. It’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.

Then there’s a sharp knock on the door, right by John’s head, and you both freeze as your secretary ’s voice comes through.

“Mr. Strider? I have a message for you!”

John turns and gives you a downright evil smirk. He moves his lips to your ear and purrs, “Well, Mr. Strider?”

You push away from him and threaten a spanking as he laughs and grabs his book. You are still flustered as he opens the door and warmly greets your secretary  before skipping out like nothing happened.

“Mr. Strider?” She asks, holding out a piece of paper.

You shudder and snatch the paper, mumbling a thank you as you hurriedly leave before you can make any more bad decisions. You hear her try and tell you something about your shirt but you’re already out the door.

You make it to your car before you actually start to process what’s happening. You sit there, seatbelt on and staring at the wheel, running over everything.

“What am I doing?”

You can’t be messing around like a high school student with a crush. You’re a parent, a famous person, and you don’t know John that well. This could blow up in your face in a thousand different ways. You could get caught and it would be featured on the front page of every tabloid in LA, not that you really care.

John could be toying with you to get something, but since he can’t exactly get pregnant and demand child support you don’t really know his aim.

You like John.

You like him a lot.

You lean back into your seat and hear something crunch behind you. Frowning, you twist your arm behind your back and feel around until your fingers brush against paper. You rip it off and find one of John’s many colored sticky notes in your hand detailing the exact percentage of lame it is that you fell for that along with a hastily scribbled dick in the corner.

You groan and smack your head against the steering wheel. He’s going to be the end of you. You crumple the sticky note up and shove it in your pocket.

You need advice or support or something.

Fortunately, you know exactly who to go to.

Your drive home is crammed with traffic as usual and you’re in a particularly anxious mood by the time you get home. You think too much, and you had a lot of time to do that in bumper to bumper traffic. You thought about the press harassing John, about John tricking you, about you somehow hurting John, about John not actually looking for anything serious.

By the time you get upstairs you’re a bit of a mess.

Dirk is home, of course, and you’ve never been more grateful to see his absurdly styled hair than now. Though, you think, maybe you should be taking the kid out more so he knows what true style is.

“Hey, Bro. How was work?” Dirk calls out lazily from the couch, his attention captured by the game in his hands.

“Fine,” you say shortly, walking over and standing there uncomfortably until Dirk looks up. “I want to ask you something.”

Dirk instantly looks guarded. “You’re not going to have the sex talk with me again, are you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do I need to?”

“No!”

“Okay then.”

You both breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Dirk goes back to his game but you move to sit next to him, fiddling with your shirt cuffs until he finally snaps the thing closed and sits upright. “Alright, what is it?”

You have no idea how to start this conversation. First of all its messed up that you’re going to your kid for advice, but honestly you don’t have anyone else. Your best friend, Rose, would just over analyze the hell out of your pain for fun and leave you just as confused as ever.

“…this is about John, isn’t it?”

Well that’s one way to start.

“Yeah.” You say, and wonder why this has to be so hard. “I need a second opinion.”

“Yes, he’s got a nice butt,” Dirk says, but there’s no humor in his voice.

“Damn right.”

“You’re not asking me about something like that though, are you?”

“No.”

You don’t need to see through Dirk’s shades to know he’s scowling.

“Bro, you’re not doing something stupid, are you?”

“No!” You snap, and then feel ridiculous. “No, of course not. I just…”

“Just?” Dirk’s voice pitches. “Just nothing, Bro. Do you even know this guy?”

“Of course I—” you start, but Dirk cuts you off.

“He’s been working there for not even a month. You can’t get to know somebody that quickly. And he certainly wouldn’t be getting to know you that quickly unless something is up.”

“Oh, what, so John’s a spy now?” You get up and cross your arms, arching an eyebrow.

Dirk gets up too, mimicking your position. “I don’t know what John is, and neither do you. How do you know this isn’t some game to him?”

“It’s not—”

“How many times has he initiated something?”

“I—”

“And have you ever initiated anything? Or has it all been him?”

You close your mouth, dread creeping into your gut to churn with your anxiety. It’s like Dirk can read all your fears and is calling them out, one by one. Your mind reminds you of the sticky note in your pocket. He definitely put it on your back when he kissed you. Did he kiss you just to do that? But he didn’t know you’d be okay with it. Was it a joke? John jokes a lot. Would that make the kiss a joke too?

“You can’t be doing this,” Dirk continues, bringing you out of your head. “You’re a famous director and he’s just some guy. He could be something bad or maybe he’s nothing at all but have you thought about the media? They’ll have a field day with this. You’re unconventional enough as it is but Bro, the line has to be drawn somewhere.”

You stare at Dirk in stunned disbelief as he continues, his words growing harsher by the second as he coldly ticks off every worry you have.

“You don’t get a private life, Bro. You’re going to be turned into the gay-icon of the decade and suddenly you’ll have some much political shit pouring down on you that it’ll scare anyone off, especially some boy toy you’ve only had for a month—”

“Dirk Strider,” you snap, and he skids to a halt mid-sentence. “What the ever loving fuck do you think you’re saying? I’m not asking for you damn permission to do shit, I’m a grown ass man and I don’t need a 15 year old telling me shit I already know.”

Dirk drops his arms. “Then why the hell did you come talk to me.”

“Because I could use some fucking support for once!”

“Oh, you could use support? What about me? You have me locked away like some damn princess in a pompous-asshole-guarded tower. Is that what you’re going to do to John once this shit hits the fan? Lock him up too?”

You feel sick. You know if you open your mouth you’ll say something you’ll regret so instead you snatch up your keys and storm out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dirk 
> 
> I love getting your comments!! Please keep letting me know what you think :D


	5. Chapter 5

You sit outside a bar, your car idling as you fight with yourself. You know this is a terrible idea. You know that you have a movie coming out and every media reporter out there is thirsty for you blood, especially after you taunted them over twitter like that. You know getting drunk is a very, very bad idea.

You already knew that before you pulled up to the bar, but you also knew where you were going after and it was honestly just an excuse to put it off for a couple more minutes.

You put your car in drive and head off.

Your blood is still boiling after you ran out on Dirk, and his words are ringing in your ears as you pull up to a small, inconspicuous house with ivy on the front.

You park on the street and walk to the front door. It’s not too late, but definitely not the time to be dropping in on somebody unannounced.

You feel like you’re going to throw up and cry all at once.

You knock.

There isn’t a long pause before the door opens and John pokes his head out, hair slightly ruffled and eyebrows scrunched in concern. “Dave?”

Then you grab him and kiss him with every ounce of desperation you have.

You both stumble back into his house and he barely manages to shut the door before you’re on him again, kissing him feverishly as he tries to get out questions around gasps.

You don’t answer anything and he stops asking once you find that spot again on his neck and suck on it. That seems to be all the persuasion he needs before he’s grabbing you and spinning you around. You have a moment of disorientation before he’s slamming you against the wall and pressing his thigh between your legs.

It can’t all be a joke.

You’re moaning as he grinds his leg up into you and kisses you with the passion you thought about after that first night. He’s pushing and guiding you deeper into his house, giggling when you stumble on something and then quick to kiss you before you can complain.

You lose your shirt and shoes somewhere in the process of getting to his bedroom. He shoves you onto the comforter and you bounce a bit. John kicks off his shoes and climbs on top of you, hands roaming eagerly over your body as you let your head fall back and offer yourself to him. It’s been so long. It’s been so long since anybody did something like this to you. Every touch is like pure ecstasy and you moan loudly as he rolls his hips into yours.

“Ahh, John,” you call out breathlessly.

And then he stops.

You whine and push your shades up, looking up at him in the dimness of his bedroom. “What? Why’d you stop?”

John’s looking down at you with that expression you just can’t place. He still looks so beautiful, in a casual t-shirt and jeans, hair messed up from your hands and lips pink from your kisses.

“Dave, did something happen?”

You flush and glare at him. “No! Why can’t people let me make my own decisions?”

John stares at you and then, of all things, he laughs.

Your confusion turns to embarrassment and anger towards yourself. You don’t know what you were thinking coming here, but you’re done being taken as a joke. You had enough of that in your early years at Hollywood.

You shove him off and sit up. “I’m leaving.”

“No, Dave, wait, haha, sorry it’s just you were so clueless before!” John giggles as he throws his arms around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest.

You try and pull away but he’s got one hell of a grip on you.

“Dave,” John sighs, and you can hear the grin in his voice damn him. “Dave, I was practically throwing myself at you for the past few days and now you suddenly notice? So either somebody spelled it out for you or something happened.”

You stop fighting and crane your neck up to look at him. “Huh?”

John smiles down at you softly, throwing you off guard. He shifts so he’s leaning against the wall, effortlessly pulling you into his lap. “Dave, sorry, but you’re pretty oblivious! I don’t go around kissing random people you know.”

“So why did you?” You ask, your chest tightening as panic begins to well up again. You can hear Dirk’s warnings to be careful, about how John has been initiating everything, and your own fears about him just using you for something are louder than ever.

“Remember that party we went to? I know you were probably joking about it being a date and so was I at first, but then we went out. And I had a great time! You’re really funny and I liked seeing that you’re actually pretty awkward. I don’t know when exactly, but when you dropped me off at my house I didn’t want you to end it like that so I…”

“Asked for a kiss,” you finish.

“Yeah,” John laughs nervously. “And I spent the next day freaking out about it! You didn’t come into work and I thought I’d really messed everything up! But then you came in the next day and I decided to pretend nothing happened…”

“You were bad at that,” you reply in a small voice, and you feel John relax.

“Heh, yeah I was. I started liking you and well, that’s all there is to it.”

“If it’s any consolation, I was freaking out a bit too,” you say, turning as John finally lets you go. You sit beside him and sigh, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You’re officially exhausted. No more crushes for this Strider, they cause too much damn drama.

“So what happened?” John asks, and suddenly the tension in your chest is back.

“I don’t know…” you mumble, opening your eyes and staring at the ceiling. “I got in a fight with Dirk. It was…bad.”

“Was it about me?” John hedges.

“Yeah. And also my shitty parenting.” You groan and cover your face with your hands. “I just try and connect and suddenly I’m making a disaster of everything. I don’t know what I said but he thinks I don’t care about anything and I’m worried he thinks I don’t care about him. He said you might be using me and that I need to stop keeping him locked up all the time.”

“Wow,” John says, rubbing your back as you continue speaking into your hands.

“I just want him safe! I do care, a lot. I know the shit I pull is risky for my career and that I don’t always think about consequences, but I don’t want Dirk caught in that shitty life style. He’s a kid. He gets overwhelmed easily and he says he can take it but I know better than that. Plus the press is fucking savage they’ll sink their greedy claws into him and won’t stop ripping until he needs five years of therapy. And oh god what about the fans? Most of them are chill but some are just—”

“Dave,” John says loudly, interrupting your frantic monologue, “hang on a second you’re jumping to the worst thing possible. First, it sounds like Dirk was worried for you. I mean, you basically told him you might be jeopardizing your career for some dude who might be messing with you.”

“I am not,” you mutter sulkily.

John smiles and kisses you on the cheek, finally getting you to drop your hands. “He doesn’t know that. And honestly, you didn’t until a few minutes ago. Neither did I, really. I still don’t really know what you want.”

He laughs nervously and continues before you can say anything.

“And it sounds like you are worried about him too! And I bet he knows that. But he’s also a kid and he needs his space and some freedom. He’s not going to live with you forever, is he?”

“Of course he is,” you grumble, and then smile slightly when John gives you a look.

“You are both being overprotective mothers. You should go home and do whatever weird thing it is you do to show affection.”

You frown. “I should buy him a hooker and some cheap Chinese food?”

You wait until John’s expression morphs into horror before snickering.

“Just a joke, I thought you’d be familiar with those?”  

“Ugh, go make up with your brother.” John gives you a halfhearted kick and you catch his ankle, pulling him off balance.

He squawks as he lands on his back, giving you a dirty look which turns to surprise when you climb on top of him. “Dave?”

“Sorry for being oblivious.” You lean down, kissing him once before rolling off and getting up.

“Oh, uh, that’s okay,” John says dumbly from the bed.

“Also…” You hesitate at the doorway, pulling your shades off the top of your head and fiddling with them. “That thing you said earlier. About us. Or, uh, potentially there being an us.”

“We should talk about it, but maybe not when your brother thinks you hate him?” John offers with a smile.

“Oh, right. Yeah.” You hastily put your shades on and go into the hallway to find your discarded clothes. You get your shirt on and finish tying your shoes when you get an idea.

John looks up as you dart back into his bedroom, still buttoning your shirt. “Dave?”

“Go to the after party with me.”

“I’m already going,” John says, raising his eyebrows.

“No. I mean with me. As a date. A real one.”

John looks at you and you wonder if he can hear how loudly your heart is pounding. You’ve never really asked somebody out like this. You’ve done it before, sure, but not when you really cared about the outcome.

“Yeah,” John says slowly, a happy look blooming over his features. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“It’s a date,” you say firmly, and then run out before you somehow mess it up.

The drive back to your apartment is once again filled with your over-active imagination concocting all sorts of horrible scenarios for your upcoming conversation with Dirk. It’s late, and the streets are mostly empty, but you still manage to double the length of driving time.

You get a text from John on your way up in the elevator.

_Have you talked to him yet?_

You step out and chew on your lower lip as you head to your door. You type out a quick ‘no, I don’t know what to start with’, before stepping inside and closing the door. It’s dark, but you see a light from under Dirk’s door. You wonder if he was waiting for you to get home.

_Just tell him what you told me._ _You’ll do great!_

You highly doubt that. John definitely hasn’t been around you long enough to know you suck at having any sort of serious conversation. You basically threw a small tantrum and stormed out like a teenager not two hours ago in front of your kid brother.

You sigh and slip your phone into your pocket.

Time to be an adult.

You knock on Dirk’s door before opening it, not stepping inside in case you need to make a quick retreat.

He’s on his bed typing away on a computer, and doesn’t look up.

“I’m back,” you say, and get a grunt in response.

You have no idea if that’s an ‘I’m busy’ grunt or an ‘I hate your guts and called social services on your ass while you were out’ grunt. You pray for the former of the two.

“I went to see John,” you blurt, and you see Dirk’s shoulders tense. “He told me I was being stupid.”

Dirk stops typing and you’re pretty sure he’s looking at you now.

You sigh and come in, sitting on the corner of his bed. He doesn’t tell you to get out so you figure it’s safe to continue.

“I worry. A lot. But, uh, I understand if you want to take real classes. I can sign you up next fall for the private high school in our area.” You twist your fingers together as Dirk continues to be silent. “Are…are we cool?”

“Yeah. We’re cool,” Dirk finally says, and offers you his fist which you gratefully bump.

You stand up, relieved. “Alright. Awesome. I’m going to go order like a dozen spring rolls. You want anything?”

“Some fried rice would be good,” Dirk says as he goes back to typing.

You nod and then hesitate by the doorway. “I asked John out. On a date. A real one this time, you know, to figure out if he’s a spy or something, or if he’s just out for the sweet Strider booty.”

Dirk presses his lips together for a brief second and then says, “Let me know if you want me to do your makeup.”

And just like that a massive weight slides off your shoulders. You leave and go order some Chinese food, and when it comes the two of you stay up and watch shitty reality TV together until Dirk is yawning and you’re nodding off.

You crawl into bed and shoot John a quick text to let him know everything was fine and then fall asleep before he has a chance to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what ya'll think!


	6. Chapter 6

The time leading up to the day of your date seems to shoot past you before you know it. Your days are full of busy-work that usually accompanies the showing of a new movie. You’re ordering people around and signing papers left right and center. In the midst of it all is John, helping you get people into an organized line so you can yell at them one by one.

Vantas even shows up and asks about screening your movie in Italy at the same time as your midnight premier, something about extra publicity and starting an international reputation. You don’t really listen and figure if people want to watch you work they’ll pirate it off the internet. You sign off on it anyway because he’s really pressing it and your agent has never steered you wrong before.

John’s also been working with your secretary to help screen your calls, which you greatly appreciate. Unfortunately, between that and your own crazy schedule, you both barely had any time to talk.

He did catch you in the break room down the hall yesterday and, while you were stealing a muffin from the counter, gave you a sweet kiss and a smile before running back out. You later asked your secretary whose muffin you ate and she said there weren’t any muffins being stocked in the break room now. You then went on a ten minute tangent about muffins and traps and being misled until she threatened to call Ellen to get an interview spot open for you.

Come the day of your midnight premier, after party, and date, you were completely exhausted. You spent most of the morning on the couch nursing a cold cup of coffee and staring vacantly at the dark television screen. You snapped out of it when Dirk came in and asked you what you were planning on wearing on your date tonight, which earned him a blank stare.

“Bro, seriously, this is almost painful for me to watch,” Dirk grumbles, leaving you there in a mystified state.

Oh, right. Your date. Your date with John. Your first date since…shit, before Dirk really.

Your palms get sweaty and you sit up like a startled squirrel.

Shit, what are you going to wear?

Normally this would be a fun game of ‘what ridiculous thing can I pull off tonight’ but suddenly you need a legit outfit and you’ve never been more confused.

Your wardrobe is no help either, and you stare at the combination of suits and sweatshirts like clothes are a completely alien concept to you.

Should you dress up?

The after party was always informal, but people tended to look nice.

Should you go in a cape?

You don’t have anything that would match the garish yellow cape Dirk got for you on mother’s day.

What about a sweatshirt?

Shit no you don’t want John to think you’re not taking this seriously.

You have a while until the date, some rational part of you says, just call someone and ask for help.

You open your mouth to shout for Dirk and then pause.

No, you don’t think dragging him into this is a good idea right now. You might be cool, but you’re pretty sure Dirk isn’t completely thrilled with this whole thing.

That leaves one other person.

You groan and pull out your cell, tapping the name before you can come to your senses.

It rings briefly before a person picks up.

_“Hello?”_

You can’t help the small smile at her familiar, almost musical voice. “Rose, hey. It’s me.”

_“David, what a surprise. To what do I owe the rare pleasure?”_

“Oh no reason, can’t a guy just call his favorite girl in the world to chat? Damn, Lalonde, give me some credit. We aren’t all sitting in New York drinking the blood of fallen enemies and making books out of their skin. That shit is downright illegal here.”

She laughs and you know before she speaks that you haven’t fooled her. _“Indeed it is, regretfully. I would love to move into a neighboring building and partake in the exquisite west coast sun. It would help tan the leather for my book covers. And speaking of which, you have a movie being released tonight, do you not?”_

“Sure do, hot off the reel. Another Strider production full of shitty cut-and-paste clipart and bad jokes. Hollywood hates me except I’m the only thing keeping their pockets lined at the moment. My poor inner starving artist is screaming out in horror at my servitude to the cooperate world.”

_“Ah, heavy is the crown.”_

“So how’s that monstrosity of a sequel coming? You know I expect a signed copy in my stocking this Christmas.”

Rose tuts. _“My publisher is being needlessly concerned with some of my, ah, darker metaphors. I did not hesitate to tell her that there is great knowledge to be found in the old tomes of the occult.”_

“Of course not. You probably bought her an original copy and hid it in her house, didn’t you?”

_“Naturally. Now, David, enough of the pleasantries. What is on your mind? It can’t be the movie, you’ve made no more self-deprecating remarks than usual, nor went on a tirade about audience interpretation.”_

“Yeah, there is something,” you say, sitting on the edge of your bed and sighing. “It’s not a big deal though, okay? So don’t do that thing.”

_“What thing?”_

You swear you hear the smirk in her voice.

“You know what thing. The thing where I tell you a thing and then you start spinning it into this complex problem that boggles the mind of even the most skilled psychiatrist and I’m left with a headache and two years of therapy. So, don’t do the thing.”

_“Your use of the word ‘thing’ tickles my Freudian tendencies.”_

“No, definitely no. Do not even start with that shit.” You run your hand through your hair anxiously. “Look, just, listen. Listen to this and then tell me what to do.”

Rose, to her credit, stays silent the entire time to explain. You tell her about meeting John, about going on a fake-date and how it turned into a real-date except you didn’t know that until a few days ago. You told her about him being the one to initiate everything, and about the fight you and Dirk had. You leave out the more raunchy parts of you running off to John’s house, but you do tell her that John gave you advice on the fight and how you asked him out.

“And so I have a date tonight and I don’t know what to do or wear or anything,” you finish, flopping back on the bed.

_“My, that was a lot more than I was expecting. I hope you know Kanaya will be expecting you both to visit sometime soon.”_

“Rose,” you groan, “please. Please do not make future double-date plans with a guy I haven’t officially dated yet! And I swear if she starts planning a dual-gay-wedding I will do an acrobatic flip of the handle. Full marks, Rose, I swear. It’s an Olympic level flip.”

_“Well we can’t have that,_ ” Rose says, clearly not hiding her amusement. _“So, his name is John?”_

“Yeah. He’s…” you trail off, not sure how to describe him. You’d say sweet, but his little smirks and mischievous glances as he tricks you into meetings and kisses makes you think twice. “He’s different, Rose. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

_“And what do you want from me exactly? You could go to Dirk if it was something as simple as fashion advice. I know he’s as stubborn as you are, but I doubt he wouldn’t help you. He does have a good eye after all.”_

“I don’t know. Everything?” you ask weakly.

Rose is quiet for a moment. _“Very well. I would suggest wearing something more on the casual side, as is your natural tendency. Dark jeans and a collared shirt, perhaps. As for the ‘everything else’ part, at the risk of sounding like a fortune cookie; be yourself.”_

“Alright, I’ll give it a shot. Thanks, Rose.”

_“Of course, David. Give my love to Dirk. I hope to be seeing you both before the year is out.”_

“Yeah, we’ll make plans. Say hi to Kanaya for me. Bye.”

You hang up and mull over her words. She’s right, as always, but there are exactly two people in the world who can tolerate your natural self and both of them you consider to be family.

You get up and get dressed, spending extra time ironing your shirt and fussing around with belts. You’re in the middle of a rather intense staring competition with an alligator skin belt when the door to your bedroom opens.

“I figured you’d be freaking out or something,” Dirk says as he steps in. “But you actually managed to pick an outfit. Good job, Bro.”

You slide your shades down your nose so he can get the full blast of your petty eye-roll before straightening up, belt in hand.

“I hate parties,” you announce loudly.

“I know,” Dirk says, moving you aside gently and taking the belt from your hand.

“They’re stupid,” you add defensively.

“Mhm,” Dirk says, putting the belt back and rummaging through your drawers.

“I don’t like being famous,” you mumble pathetically, sitting on your bed.

“Try this,” Dirk says, handing you a simple black leather belt with a silver buckle.

It’s old, back when you both lived in that tiny apartment in Texas. The leather is worn and cracked, but the silver shines just as brightly as the day you got it. It’s almost as old as Dirk, and it makes your heart ache strangely. Not exactly home-sickness, but something akin to it.

You run your hands over it before standing up to put it on. It fits, of course, but you’ve moved a hole up since you last wore it.

You guess steady meals will do that to you.

It’s comforting, and your fingers brush the buckle as you turn to face Dirk.

“Well?”

He nods in approval and steps back, taking in the whole thing. “Looks good to me, Bro.”

You look at your watch and find you’ve got a couple more hours to kill before you need to go pick up John. You decided on having a driver tonight in case the two of you wanted to expand your stolen-glass collection. You think a wine glass would be a nice edition.

Dirk picks out some simple, dark shoes for you and then the two of you go and sit in the living room together.

Dirk starts channel surfing and you try not to fidget. This feels too much like you’re waiting for a prom date or something, not that you have any experience with that. You wonder if you should get him flowers.

No, you got him flowers as a joke last time. You want him to take you seriously.

What do serious people do?

“Uh, Bro?”

“Hmm?” You turn to look at Dirk, who’s giving you an odd look. “What?”

“Nothing. But maybe don’t look so grim when you pick up your hot date. Just a suggestion.”

You sigh and lean back in the couch, massaging the bridge of your nose.

Dirk looks a little uncomfortable but, to his credit, doesn’t try and pry into your thoughts. The kid is pretty smart as it is, he probably knows exactly what you’re obsessing over.

When the time comes to leave you feel like you’re on autopilot. Dirk makes a joke about hanging a sock on the door or something if you bring John home, and you just stare at him until he mumbles an apology.

When you leave you’re almost certain you hear him say ‘good luck’, but you’re not too sure.

The car is more subtle this time, a black city car with tinted windows. You get in the back and give the driver John’s address, and before you know it you’re standing outside his house for the third time in a month of knowing him.

You knock, and then shove your hands in your pockets and try very hard to look nonchalant about the whole thing.

The door opens and John steps out, dressed similarly to you. He’s got on dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a navy blazer which you think make his eyes pop.

“Hi Dave!”

“Hey, John—” you begin, only to be cut off with a quick kiss. You blink and your shoulders relax. “What was that for?”

He’s giving you a grin that makes your stomach squirm around. “Well I figured it would break any tension you were having. I bet you were probably freaking out a bit so I thought I’d make the first move!”

“I wasn’t freaking out,” you protest weakly, following him to the car.

“Oh yeah, of course you weren’t,” John opens the door for you and you make a show of swooning before he shoves you in. “I mean,” he continues once he’s inside too, “it’s not like you’ve been working your ass off this week trying to deal with your movie coming out on top of weird dating stuff too.”

“Dating stuff?” you echo happily, and John turns a little red.

“Uh, yeah, is that word okay?”

“Yep, totally cool,” you say, even as your mind repeats ‘we’re dating’ over and over, and continues to do so until you arrive at the party.

The party is held at one of the actor’s mansions and the press has already mobbed the front gates by the time you arrive. The car creeps forward in a valiant attempt to not run over anybody as you make catty comments about reporters’ clothes while John giggles.

“I swear I could pull off that dress better,” you insist as you get out of the car, making sure to give your driver a big tip before walking towards the house.

“I think you could pull it off. You’ve got great legs,” John says, and then takes your hand in his.

The house is huge and you’re pretty sure only one wing of it is being used for the party. It’s usually thrown by the actors, so there are naturally a ton of people there. Everyone who worked on the film and their plus one made the entire thing rather packed.

John keeps a tight hold on your hand as you expertly dodge and weave your way through elbows and purses heavier than your kid.

There’s music pumping through speakers you can’t see and multicolored lights are everywhere. But despite the club-aura, there are some touches of your own brand of ‘party’ thrown in too.

You find this when you open a door and step knee-deep into a ball pit.

“Augh, shit, John give me a hand,” you say as you struggle to get out of the death trap.

“Okay,” John says a bit too cheerfully, offering you both his hands.

You reach over and grab them, but right as the majority of your balance is in his grasp he suddenly gives you a massive grin.

“John—” you begin, but he lets you go and gives your chest a shove, sending you toppling back into the ball pit.

He’s laughing when you reemerge, shades crooked and hair a mess. You fish a ball out from your shirt and lob it at him, snickering when it hits him in the chin.

You stop snickering when he turns an almost maniacal smile on you.

“Is that a challenge, Dave?”

“No?” you try, and then yelp as he dives in after you.

You spend a good while chasing each other around the room, finally calling it quits once John managed to stuff every ball he could down your shirt and you screamed bloody murder when he tried to put one down your pants.

You reemerged looking rather disheveled and flushed, which made a few people gave you knowing winks and grins. 

“Come on, I think there’s an outside,” John says, taking your hand again and leading you towards a wide open set of double glass doors.

Sure enough the deck and yard have been taken over as well, but it is much quieter outside. String lights were wound all around the deck and numerous chairs were set up for lounging. The yard has a massive pool, and everyone seems to be more preoccupied with that than watching the two of you snag a couple drinks and go sit in the secluded corner.

“I can’t believe you do this all the time. It must get exhausting,” John comments, sipping on whatever colorful drink you handed him.

You grunt and take a cautious sip of your own drink. It tastes sweet and you instantly distrust it. But then again, you’re a sucker for fruity drinks.

“So,” John says, setting his drink on the arm chair and turning towards you.

“So?” you echo, matching his position and toying with the tiny umbrella in your drinks. You love these things so much.

“I think we’re supposed to learn about each other,” John says teasingly.

You take the umbrella out and lick it clean before sticking it behind your ear. “Right, I’m ready.”

John laughs and then thinks for a second. “Okay, let’s start off easy. What’s your favorite color?”

“Um, maybe brown,” you say, stirring your drink with the straw absently. You see John’s surprised look and grin. “I know, not what you’d expect. But brown is nice. It’s the color of desert ground.”

“That’s interesting,” John says around his drink, and then coughs. “Ah, okay, your turn.”

“Why did you apply to be my event planner?” The question comes off the top of your head, but now that it’s out you’re rather curious.

“Hmm, good one.” John thinks it over for a second as you finish your drink. “Okay, well, this might sound a little bad.”

“Shoot.”

“Um, so a friend of mine knew I was looking for work and recommended it to me. I’ve always been pretty good with organizing stuff and keeping things straight so I figured ‘hey, why not?’. So the night before I did the usual background research and I found out you were actually some really famous movie producer? I kind of freaked out a bit but I had the meeting tomorrow so I couldn’t back out. I stayed up all night watching your two movies and some interviews you did—hey, quit laughing!”

You really try, but giggles somehow keep escaping around your hand. “You, heh, really had no idea who I was?”

John glares at you, his face red. “I’m not into the whole famous-people scene! I was fresh out of college and I was applying to grad schools so I wasn’t keeping up with the new movies either!”

You laugh harder, shades slipping down your nose as you gasp for air.

“Dave!” John whines, and you flap your hand at him in what you hope is a reassuring manner.

You finally get it together and push your shades back up, giggling as you look at John’s flustered and irritated expression. “Oh man, that was the best thing I’ve ever heard. Move aside first script acceptance letter, back down Dirk’s first words, this moment is now forever sealed away in my heart. It’s locked down so tight even Indiana Jones couldn’t swap this shit out.”

“I thought I hallucinated the interview process,” John mumbles. “Some rich and famous guy was asking me about drag and feather boas. I was convinced the pot of coffee I had on the way over was drugged.”

You grin and shake your head, still amused. “I’m so glad you had no idea who I was, that really makes sense now.”

“Yeah, no idea you were such a child,” John mutters, and your grin widens. “Alright, my turn. What were Dirk’s first words?”

Your heart does a funny dance in your chest and your grin softens into a smile. “His first word was ‘Bo’, and I spent two hours trying to get him to say it again but the little shit refused to speak again for another month. By then he’d picked up ‘no’ very well too.”

You spot a server walking around with more of those fruity drinks and you flag him over, both you and John helping yourselves to another round.

“Okay, um, where are you from?”

“Washington State, born and raised,” John says proudly. “You?”

“Texas, moved here once I got my script accepted. Why did you move to LA?”

John’s face falls and you realize you inadvertently asked the First Question.

“You don’t have to—” you begin, but he shakes his head.

“My dad died last year,” he begins, and at first he’s so quiet you can barely hear him over the thumping music from inside. “He was my best friend. My mom died when I was a baby so it was just us for a long time. He supported me all through college, even though I chose a weird career path. He’d send me these ridiculous letters right before I had any big exams telling me how proud he was and stuff.”

You keep very still as John takes a breath, staring into his drink.

“He…he was alone, uh, I was out, when it happened. Accident. Bookshelf collapsed on him.” John clears his throat and takes a drink.

The background noises from the party float around the tense bubble you find yourself in, and you absolutely hate yourself for asking that question. The silence stretches on for a minute, John playing with this straw and you trying very hard to appear relaxed.

“My parents died when I was 17,” you finally blurt out, and John looks up at you. “Dirk was a baby. I was a junior in High School. So, uh, I know how that feels.”

John gives you a smile and reaches over. You take his hand and scoot your chair closer, letting them rest on your thigh.

“Dirk is really lucky you know,” John says after a while of sitting and watching people go by.

“I don’t know,” you say, mostly to yourself. “He’s alone a lot because of my work, and he can’t go out because of me too.”

John squeezes your hand. “I think he’d prefer it to any other option. But, that’s just my opinion.”

This is getting into rather dangerous territory for you now, and you try and hide it by chugging down the rest of your drink. You instantly regret it.

“Augh, shit,” you groan, clutching your head. “Brain freeze.”

Thankfully, you being an idiot diverts the conversation. John laughs at you and offers to pour his drink over your now exposed neck, to which you decide instantly he’s deadly serious about and barely manage to get out of the way as it sloshes over where you were previously perched.

“Ugh, come on lets go mingle or something,” you say, grabbing John and hauling him protesting into the party.

The atmosphere had grown more intense while the two of you had been outside talking. People were packed together, laughing and dancing as they celebrated being finished with yet another Strider production. A few of them spotted you and waved you over, and soon you and John were dancing along with them.

John’s body is pushed up against yours and you put your hands on his waist when he tried to step away. You were never the best at dancing, but the throng of people gave you an excuse to do little more than press against John and sway with him.

His hands went around your shoulders and his thigh between your legs and soon you both developed a rhythm.

You pressed him closer, feeling hot under your shirt and exhilarated as John’s lips found your neck. Someone might have commented but it was lost over the music.

The night went on, time lost as you danced with John and stole kisses. His hands wandered up and down your back and you murmured what you thought were great puns in his ear to make him smack you.

It reminded you of your first not-date, and you mention this to John who laughs and asks if you need to start stealing glasses.

You end up pocketing two shot glasses when nobody is looking, and John grabs your butt on your way out the door.

You tumble into the backseat of your car and, giggling, ask the driver to take you home. You wrap an arm around John and hold him close to you, kissing the top of his head and smiling when he asks you if you had fun.

You arrive at your place and you tip the driver again, this time for silence, and the two of you find your way up to your home.

It’s late, but you’re still very quiet as you unlock the door and let John in. The place is dark and you smother a curse when you see Dirk left a stack of condoms on the little table by the door.

You hastily pocket all of them before John sees and usher him into your bedroom in case Dirk left anything else lying around.

You close the door and toe off your shoes as John flops on your bed and giggles. You empty your pockets of stolen shot glasses as John looks around.

“I like your room!”

“You haven’t seen it before?”

“No, the feather boas were in the guest room by fish tank. I never came in here,” John says, rolling over and kicking off his shoes. He muffles a laugh as you jump on next to him, and then tugs you over so you’re looking down at him.

You lean down and kiss him firmly, feeling his hand brush up your leg and rest on your hip. You lower your body down against him, shifting your thigh up between his legs as you press kiss after kiss on his lips.

You can feel his hands moving over your body as he eagerly responds, nipping your lip before giving you a coy smile. You growl quietly at him and he snickers, pulling you back down and kissing you with a bit less patience.

His hands find the front of your shirt and begin to fumble with the buttons, managing to get half way before you sit back up on his hips.

“Hey,” he complains, and then stops when he watches you slowly pop open the rest of your shirt.

You take your time, feeling your inner porn star take over as you purposefully let your shirt slide off your shoulders and down your back. You flush as you look down to see John staring hungrily at you. You finally toss the shirt away and smirk down at him, pulling off your shades and setting them aside.

“See something you like?” You drop your tone to something lower, and your pride swells a bit when you see John’s eyes darken.

“Come here,” he demands, and just like that you’re on him again.

He moans as you kiss him, pressing his hands along your back and feeling you as you grind down on him like a two dollar whore. You don’t care. You finally can do this and it makes you feel like you’re fifteen again, fooling around in somebody’s closet and secretly hoping you’ll get caught.

“Dave,” John gasps, and his hand finds your hair and tugs.

You whine pathetically, pushing your thigh up between his and playfully rubbing it against his growing erection. You think you’re being pretty clever, until John grabs you and flips you over.

You huff in surprise as you hit the sheets, staring up wide-eyed as John now straddles you. He’s smirking and he’s lost his glasses at some point. This combination makes you squirm a bit, eager to touch but not quite sure if you’re allowed.

He tosses his blazer off and the shirt soon follows, and it’s your turn to stare at John’s broad chest. You can’t help yourself as you reach up, running your hands over him and following the curve of his waist down to his hips.

His lips twitch into a small smile and then his fingers are tugging on your belt, part demand part question.

“I don’t normally put out on the first date,” you say a little breathlessly. His hands are so close to your cock and there’s no way he can’t feel how hard you are.

John raises an eyebrow and grins. “Neither do I.”

You flush a little and, when John’s hands start up on your belt again, you don’t make another sound of protest.

The belt hits the floor with a dull thud and John rolls off you, sitting up and patting his lap with a mischievous grin that you’re starting to really like.

“No, not like that,” he says as you go to climb on top of him. He takes you and gently turns you around, pulling you back into him so you’re seated on his lap and facing out. John wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing his bare chest against your back and sending electricity down your spine.

“Mnh,” you gasp as he begins to kiss and suck on your neck, and then you practically groan when John bites a little too hard. He pauses, and for a moment you’re terrified you fucked up somehow, but then he attacks your neck with renewed vigor and seems pleased as you squirm and whine desperately in his lap.

You feel your self-control slipping as you press back and find John nice and hard against your ass. You’re feeling fuzzy and a little bit like a slut because John seems to realize you have a small thing for pain and is taking full advantage.  

You don’t realize his hands are unbuttoning your jeans until the pressure on your cock is blissfully relieved. You lift your hips and let him push them down without a second thought. He pulls you back against him and moans when you pointedly wiggle your ass up against his cock.

“You have really nice legs,” he murmurs against your neck, sliding a hand down your leg and back up along your inner thigh.

You shiver and let your head fall back on his shoulder, letting his fingers dance along your bare skin until them come to your underwear.

“Can I…?” John asks quietly, and you smile up at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” you say just as quietly, and then sigh as he pushes down your underwear and finally touches you.

His hand is wider than yours, and it fits differently over your cock than your own in a way that makes this experience all too real. There’s something undeniably sexy about him still being half dressed while you’re a naked moaning mess in his lap, and you think he feels the same because he’s started whispering encouragement in your ear as he begins to stroke you.

“Fuck, Dave, you look so amazing like this,” John practically purrs, and your lips part in a soundless plea as he rolls his palm over the head of your cock.

You’re hypersensitive to every touch, gasping and moaning as John plays with you almost lazily. You’d think he was distracted if it wasn’t for the feeling of his cock pressing into you. He rubs his thumb over the tip and drags it down along the underside, earning a muffled keen from you.

“God, Dave, you sound so good,” John groans, doing it again and forcing the sound from your lips. His other arm wraps around you, holding you close and secure as he pleasures you. It fills you with all sorts of conflicting feelings, but then John bites you again and you stop thinking.

“Heh, you really like that don’t you?” John whispers in your ear as you shake and push up into his hand demandingly. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. What else do you like?”

Your eyes widen and you almost choke. John’s hand is going faster along your achingly hard cock and your entire body feels like its being wound up with every stroke. You’re panting and trying so hard not to let this end so soon, but you need it so badly it’s starting to hurt.

“Hmm, let’s see,” John says in a voice that catches your attention instantly. “When we’re in bed, can I call you Mr. Strider?”

Your body jerks and you barely manage to slap your hand over your mouth as you come loudly into John’s hand.

John pries your hand from your mouth once your orgasm is over and smiles as tiny, panting moans tumble from your lips. You’re shaking as he takes his hand off you and grabs a tissue from your bedside table, cleaning his hand off with a small satisfied smile.

You blink, feeling boneless and blissful in your post-orgasm haze. You pull yourself up and turn around, watching as John settles back against the wall behind you.

“Have fun?” He asks with a little smirk that makes your chest tickle.

You grin, feeling a little shaky as you slowly climb back on top of him. “We’re not done yet.”

John’s eyebrows shoot up, but you kiss him before he can say anything more. You wait until he responds before tugging him down onto his back, your hands already working quickly to undo his pants.

You get them off easily, sliding down John’s boxers only after getting a quick nod of approval. He’s still beautifully hard for you, and in your foggy haze you think it’s the best thing you’ve seen.

You keep your hands on his hips as you position yourself between his legs, catching the tip with your lips and giving it a small kiss.

John bites down on his lower lip and slowly circles his legs around you, keeping you there as you begin to gently kiss down his cock. You take one of your hands and hold him at the base as you continue to worship it slowly, watching John slowly start to tense and flush.

“Dave,” he finally whines, and you look up at him with hooded eyes.

“It’s Mr. Strider,” you murmur, and John’s head falls back with a moan.

You finally take him in your mouth, flicking the tip of your tongue over the head before hollowing your cheeks and taking him down to your hand.

John arches off the bed and claws at the sheets as you start to suck on his cock, gasping expletives mixed in with your name. You watch him eagerly as you press your tongue to the underside of his cock and drag it along as you slowly take him out of your mouth.

“Ahh, Dav—fuck, Mr. Strider,” John moans demandingly, and you are quick to take him back in your mouth with a small noise of your own.

You feel his hands tangle themselves in your hair as you move your mouth and tongue over him, relishing the broken off noises spilling from John.

You feel his fingers tighten warningly and you draw back enough to let your tongue continue to play with the tip. That’s enough to send John over the edge, and he finishes with a sharp gasp and a shaky exhale of “Dave…!”.

You swallow and reach for your water bottle, washing down the taste and then crawling up beside John lazily. You still feel a little shaky, and you’re just starting to wonder if maybe this was a bad idea when you feel John’s arms circle around you and pull you in close.

“I like being the big spoon,” he murmurs sleepily into your hair, and then kisses one of the no doubt many marks on your neck.

You smile into your pillow and press back into him, enjoying the comforting warmth. You fall asleep easily, and not once during the night do you feel him move away from you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments fuel my soul <3


	7. Chapter 7

You wake up the next morning wondering blearily what you did last night to get you so relaxed. Your back doesn’t even ache as you roll over and stretch, and you enjoy the moment of blissful quiet as your brain slowly begins to turn on.

The spot next to you is warm, and you look at it for a couple seconds before you realize it’s also empty.

You sit up and look around your room. Your clothes are still strewn on the floor from last night and your shades were placed on the nightstand at some point, but John is nowhere to be seen.

A quick survey finds his shirt among your own crumpled clothes, and you start to breathe again.

You roll out of bed and get dressed slowly, opting for pajama pants and a sweatshirt rather than deal with trying to match two pieces of clothing. You yawn and grab your shades, sticking them on and ruffling your hair into a more natural position. On your way to the door you catch a look at yourself in your vanity mirror and stop.

The right side of your neck is decorated with bruises, ranging from a few light love-bites to one that makes you marvel at your neck still being attacked.

You tug the hood up a bit to cover it and then step out to find John.

The living room is bright with sun and you spot Dirk sitting on one of the barstools, swinging his feet as he talks around a mouthful of food.

Over the bar counter is John, gesturing with a spatula as something delicious sizzles on the stove.

John spots you and smiles with mock-innocence. “Morning, Mr. Strider.”

You stop short as blood rushes to your cheeks, trying desperately to think of some sort of witty comeback. Your sleepy brain fails you.

Dirk looks between your red face and John’s bright smile and stands up abruptly. “No. Hell no.” He grabs his plate and leaves.

John laughs and turns back to the stove. “I made eggs while you were sleeping. You have a lot of empty takeout containers in your fridge by the way.”

You walk barefoot into the kitchen and watch as he piles eggs on two plates before turning off the stove and setting everything aside. He’s wearing his jeans from last night, but the shirt he’s in definitely isn’t his.

It’s too tight, for starters, and too small in the shoulders and too long in the torso. Basically it’s perfect and looks way better on him than it ever did on you.

“Dave, you’re being pretty quiet—oof!” John wheezes as you wrap your arms around him, squeezing him as you bury your nose in the crook of his neck. He smells nice, like sleep and sex and something uniquely John.

“What were you two talking about?” you mumble into his neck, and he sets the plates on the counter where Dirk vacated.

“You, mostly. He had a lot to say on that subject,” John says, turning in your arms and giving you a quick kiss. “Now come eat.”

You both ended up on the couch afterwards, your arm around his shoulders as he talked about your horrifying lack of ‘real food’ anywhere. You gave up trying to convince him that Doritos and chocolate milk were a balanced diet a while ago.

When John finally had to leave he tried to take off your shirt, but you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“You keep it,” you say, and then get up to go get the shot glass you stole for him.

John smiles when you hand it to him. “We should go out to dinner sometime and see how many glasses we can nab before we get kicked out.”

You snort and walk him to the door. “You’d give us away with all your giggling.”

“I would not! I have the best poker face,” John protests.

“Sorry babe, that title is reserved for the Striders.” You move in and kiss him once, a sweet press of lips and nothing more, before pulling back. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Bye, Dave,” John waves and then leaves, pocketing the shot glass.

You close the door and turn, then almost jump out of your skin when you see Dirk standing there. “Shit kid, how long were you standing there?”

Dirk’s arms are full of papers and a couple books. He gives you an unimpressed look. “I wasn’t spying on your super special princess alone time.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring,” you mutter, running your hand through your hair as your heart rate settles. “What’s with the stuff? You have homework you didn’t do?”

“Um, no.” Dirk shifts and clutches the heap to his chest. “You said, earlier, that I could enroll in high school next fall, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Dirk starts speaking again quickly. “You did say I could, Bro. And you do keep saying I’m not sociable enough or some shit so this is basically solving a lot of problems. You said—”

“Whoa, kid, time out,” you walk over and nudge him playfully as you pass. “I’m still fine with it. Is that what you want to talk about?”

“Yeah. I did some research on schools,” Dirk trails off in a mumble, then wordlessly offers you the stack of papers.

You start the coffee first and then turn around, picking up the pile and setting it on the counter. You pretend not to notice how Dirk walks a little faster than usual to his usual seat, and ignore him as he hovers anxiously while you look over the school’s he’s picked out.

“I think this one is best,” Dirk finally says, pointing at one by your elbow. “It’s a private school but it’s not too expensive. Plus there’s a bus that can take me there that stops a few blocks away.”

“Money isn’t an issue, kid,” you say absently, picking up the paper and reading over it. “Huh, I’ve actually heard of this place before.”

You get your coffee as you read over the notes Dirk took on it. You retain any little smiles from his meticulous details, everything from ‘look they feed me I won’t starve’ to ‘and there are parent-teacher meetings for all your mother hen needs’.

“It looks pretty good,” you say, setting it down on top of the others. “Is that where you really want to go?”

Dirk nods quickly.

“Alright, I’ll call them later and see about enrolling you.”

Dirk’s shoulders lose their tension and he almost smiles. “Cool, thanks. Oh, and Bro?”

“Hmm?” You look up from your coffee.

“No bodyguards.”

“But—”

“None,” Dirk says firmly. “You put me in a mixed martial arts class when I was five. I can kick everybody’s ass, okay? No bodyguards.”

You grumble and Dirk takes it as a yes because he’s gone before you can say anything otherwise.

You head back into your room and get dressed, deciding to get a little headway on your next script done before Vantas starts calling you about it.

You settle on your bed, paper and pen in hand, when something on the floor catches your eye. You set aside your work and lean over, snagging a shirt and then straightening up.

It’s a simple white t-shirt, but you recognize it as the one John wore to the party last night. You run your hands over it and lean back, lost in thought. You wonder what John wants out of this, and how that’s a conversation you might have to have later. Not for a while, though, you so content yourself by balling up his shirt and sticking your face in it.

Damn it smells amazing.

You tuck it under your pillow and pick up your pad of paper again, doodling ideas as they come to you. You also think about the high school Dirk requested, and after a bit you set aside your drawings and pick up your phone.

Some quick googling finds you their homepage and you read it long enough to be disgusted by the underlying pretentiousness of it all. Next you look up reviews and find yourself on a mom-blog, which amuses you for the better part of an hour.

Finally you realize you’re putting it off, so you dial the number for the school’s admissions center.

_“Hello, this is Skia Academy. How may I help you?”_

“Hello, I’m Dave Strider and I’m calling about enrolling my kid in your school.” You don’t normally name-drop yourself, but you want Dirk to get into this place so you figure a little bit of your fame-powers weren’t out of the question.

_“Mr. Strider, what a pleasant surprise,”_ the voice says, instantly sweeter.

You smirk.

_“We would love to have your child enrolled here. I will, of course, need some information to place them in the appropriate class. Would you be willing to fax me their transcript from their current school?”_

“Sure thing, I’ll have my secretary do that tomorrow morning. When can I know the results?”

_“We will send you a letter as soon as we place your child in a grade level. We look forward to having them attend Skia Academy.”_

You bet your ass you’ll be looking forward to it.

Looking forward to my paycheck, more like.

Aloud, you say, “Thank you, have a nice day.”

After you hang up you send a quick text to your secretary, letting her know you needed her to fax something over to Skia tomorrow morning. You then went online and, after some parent-access-only snooping, found Dirk’s transcript for the online classes you enrolled him into.

You look a moment to look over his grades, curious.

Most of the classes were science and math based, though you do spot a couple mandatory ones that you recall quite vividly him whining about.

All his grades are good, and you feel a little bit of pride as you email the transcript to your secretary to print and fax.

You think you’ll keep the printed version and frame it in your office.

You’re a very proud parent.

You’re in the middle of preening when your phone rings, shattering your special moment. Grumbling, you pick it up thinking it’s the school calling back about Dirk. To be fair you didn’t give them any additional information, but you figured they would wait until he got accepted to ask for that stuff.

“Dave Strider speaking,” you say, fiddling with your pen.

_“Strider, it’s me. Do you have your computer?”_

You sit up, the pen dropping from your fingers. “Vantas?”

_“Yes it’s me, don’t sound so surprised! Now get your computer and enter the website I’m about to give you.”_

You stand up and walk into the living room, hurrying past Dirk who watches you as you turn on your laptop and prop it on the counter. “Okay, got it. Go.”

You type in the website, positioning the phone between your shoulder and ear as it loads. A rather sleek website pops up in a different language, and you frown as you scan the unfamiliar words. “What am I looking at here?”

_“Scroll down to the first page.”_

You do and almost drop the phone.

It’s an Italian newspaper, and a rather fancy looking one at that. Everything is in Italian, but you don’t need to read the caption to know exactly what you’re looking at.

The front page is filled with a bust shot of you. It was one that was taken a few months ago, when you were accompanying Rose to an award show for her first book. You were wearing a midnight black suit and a red undershirt, shades intact as always. It was one of the few times you didn’t do anything silly to your outfit, mostly out of respect to her.

“What the fuck is this.”

Dirk comes over instantly at the tone of your voice, pulling the laptop aside and looking at it. “Bro, holy shit, that’s the La Republica. It’s like, the biggest fucking newspaper in Italy.”

“Vantas,” you snap, “what the hell am I doing on the biggest newspaper in Italy?”

_“Don’t get snippy with me! Do you remember me telling you that I wanted to have your movie screened in some cities in Italy? Well it was shown in a few cities and apparently it was a big hit. The newspaper says, as best as my high school Italian can read, that you’re the new face of cinema. I had to use google translate for that last word.”_

You take the computer back from Dirk and scroll through the article. There are a couple pictures of you scattered throughout, but you can’t read a word of Italian so the article itself tells you nothing.

“Can you get this translated and on my desk tomorrow? I want to know how big this is.” You close the computer and move into your room.

_“Yeah, already got someone working on it. Judging by the headline it looks good. You might be an internationally recognized name soon, Strider. And you better thank me when that happens!”_

“Yes, thank you so much, now people can yell questions at me in multiple languages,” you say flatly.

_“I’ll read it too once it’s translated. And you’re welcome! This might be a big deal. So don’t do anything dumb like learn swear words in Italian and have them tattooed on your face.”_

“Damn, saw right through me.” You brush aside your stuff and sit down on your bed. “Thanks, Vantas.”

_“I’ve gotten you this far, haven’t I? Italy is just one more place full of idiots who apparently think what you do takes skill.”_

You laugh and hang up on that note, then pull up the article on your phone. You may not be able to read it, but some words a similar enough to English that you can pick them out.

You’re still staring at it when Dirk knocks on your door.

“Oh, hey kid.” You slip your phone away and stand up, grimacing as your back complains after being hunched over the tiny screen. “Don’t worry, I called Skia earlier and I’m getting your transcript faxed tomorrow first thing.”

“Oh, yeah thanks. I was just wondering what that was all about?” Dirk leans against the frame and feigns nonchalance.

“I’ll know for sure by tomorrow, but I think Italy liked my new movie. I’ll bring the translated paper home with me and we can throw darts at it, sound good?” You grin and grab your pad of paper and pen, moving it to your night stand for any late night inspiration.

“That’s pretty cool, Bro. Let me see it before you put a bunch of holes in it.”

“Sure thing,” you say, and then put it out of your mind for the rest of the day. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, and you always liked making a dart board out of your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys!   
> Please keep up the comments they're wonderful ^u^


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning when your alarm went off you woke up feeling a little disoriented. You knew you had to send in your brother’s transcript today, so you crawled out from the warmth of the covers reluctantly.

A few minutes of rummaging through your drawers found you in a red flannel and jeans. You stuffed your feet into a pair of old, worn converse sneakers and then trudged into the kitchen to make coffee. As the machines sputters and hisses, you find half a leftover pizza and eat a slice while your travel mug fills.

Once the machine shuts off you grab it and leave the usual wad of cash in the microwave for Dirk before heading out the door.

The drive to work is uneventful and you’re feeling groggy as you walk into your office. You do perk up though when you see John sitting on the edge of your desk, newspaper in hand and a big smile on his face.

“Well hey there,” you say, smiling yourself as you walk over. You set the mug down and then wrap your arms around him, kissing him until he laughs and swats you with the paper.

“Hi to you too! Look at this, Karkat sent it in just now!” John tries to hand you the paper, but you wave it away with a disgusted look.

“Hell no, I’m not reading whatever gross rom-com movie review he sent. Keep that vile poison away from me.” You dodge around it and move around to your desk, picking up a new paper that you recognize as Dirk’s transcript.

“I’ll be right back, I need to get this faxed,” you say, pausing to give John a kiss on the cheek before ducking out.

“Hey, could you fax this to Skia Academy and let me know if they say anything? Send the office number with it.” You hand the paper to your secretary and thank her as she accepts it.

“So, dear, did you like the story?” She asks, jotting down the number on a sticky note.

“What story?”

“Oh, you haven’t seen it yet? My, that’s impressive. Your agent was just in here making quite a fuss about it! I believe Mr. Egbert has it.”

“Mr. Egbert?” You echo dumbly.

“John, dear, your event planner,” she says sweetly.

You squint at her. “You call him _Mr. Egbert?_ ”

She smiles and goes off to find the fax machine.

Shaking your head, you walk back into your office to see John has moved to your chair now, still holding the paper.

“Okay, what story is everybody going on about this time? It better not be celebrity gossip.” You walk over and perch yourself on your desk in front of John, beckoning for the paper with your hand.

“It is,” John snickers as he hands it to you. “It’s so trashy!”

“Uh huh,” you say disinterestedly, flipping the paper over and then pausing when a familiar photo stares up at you. “Oh god dammit.”

It’s the Italian paper from yesterday, and you groan when you see it’s been translated. You have no idea what Italian papers normally say about movie-producers, but if the LA papers were anything to go by, it wouldn’t be nice.

You start to scan through it, and then pause and go back to the beginning and actually read it.

 _Mr. Strider, an up and coming American movie-producer, released a movie on Friday night that took Milan by storm. Raking in over a million Euros, Mr. Strider’s second movie, titled Moovee, was a smashing success. Born in Texas, Mr. Strider made his debut in Hollywood as one of the youngest writers in cinematic history. Rarely seen without the company of a Ms. Rose Lalonde, author of_ Complacency of the Learned _, Mr. Strider has taken Italy’s breath away. Cont. Page 3._

You stop there, because you think if you read one more word of it you might either laugh or start to believe it.

“Well?” John asks as you fold up the paper and toss it on your desk.

“Yep, trashy,” you agree, and then thank every god you know when your secretary calls in and tells you Skia Academy is on the line. 

You try and shoo John out of your chair, but he just pats his lap and wiggles his eyebrows at you. You sigh and drop all 150 pounds of Strider on him, smirking when he wheezes. You pick up your phone and press the button to pick up the call.

“Dave Strider,” you say, shifting back more comfortably against John. You feel his arms wrap around you snugly and you think you could get used to this.

_“Hello, Mr. Strider. I am calling from Skia Academy about your wish to register your child here in the upcoming fall. I am very happy to announce that your son passes the requirements needed to enter into this school. But, I’m sure, you already knew of his academic brilliance.”_

You know they’re just trying to butter you up, but Dirk is a damn smart kid and they better recognize it.

“He’s my younger brother,” you correct automatically, “and he’ll be very happy to hear this.”

You listen to the normal rush of apologies that usual follow when somebody assumes you somehow gave birth to your younger brother.

One of John’s fingers brushes over the side of your neck and you twitch away, your marks from last night still a bit sensitive.

_“You brother’s grades and level of education has placed him in the accelerated program we have here. He has also placed into the 2 nd year. Is that acceptable, Mr. Strider?”_

You probably could get Dirk into the 4th year with a pre-signed diploma if you really tried, but you knew he wanted to actually go to school so you held in your sass and agreed.

_“Wonderful! I shall send over the necessary paperwork to your office fax machine. We look forward to having your brother attend Skia Academy, Mr. Strider.”_

“Thank you, I do as well.” You hang up and roll your eyes as you hear the fax machine in the other room already going off. They probably had some poor intern waiting there the entire call for you to give the green light.

“I didn’t know I bit you this hard,” John says, breaking you out of your musing as he gently kisses your neck.

“It’s cool, did you hear me complaining?” You twist around and arch an eyebrow.

“No, but I did hear you. Pretty sure everybody in the building did too,” John teases, kissing the mark again.

“And whose fault is that?” You poke him in the chest for emphasis.

“Probably the person who took me back to their place, rather than drop me off,” John says, looking up at you with amusement. “Now get off my lap, you’re heavy.”

“Dirk got into that school,” you say, leaning back instead and getting situated. You prefer John’s lap to your chair any day.

“Which one? I didn’t know you were sending him to a school, he must be excited!” John tries to shove you and only manages to make you go limp.

“I don’t know about ‘excited’, more like relieved he actually gets to be a real kid for once,” you say quietly, your neck developing a crick from the weird angle you’re lying in.

“Was he a wooden puppet before?”

You sit up and scowl. “You know what I mean.”

“What school is he going to now?” John’s arms find their way back around your waist.

“Skia Academy. It’s that private high school about a mile away. Supposed to be good.” You run your hand through your hair and then start fiddling with your shirt hem until John smacks your hands away.

“He’ll be fine,” John says, kissing between your shoulder blades.

A smile briefly flickers over your lips. “I know he can take care of himself. He’s a tough kid. But it’s other people I worry about.”

“You think somebody will try and hurt him?”

You twist around and start to gesture as you speak, growing a bit more jerky with your movements as you continue. “It’s not that. I mean it is that too, there are some weird people out there, John. I mean, he’s been home-schooled for most of his life now. And, like, what if I broke him or something? I mean shit he was really social as a little kid but now it’s a miracle if he talks to me, forget about anyone else. What if he doesn’t like it? What if nobody talks to him? Kids are mean, John. They’re fucking devils in disguise and my kid can kick all their asses but what if he sits alone at lunch?”

John’s smiling as you finish your tirade. “You really care about Dirk, huh?”

“Of course I do,” you snort, letting your hands fall back in your lap. “He’s my life. Kid’s all I got.”

“You have me too, if you want me of course,” John adds hastily. “But I think Dirk will make friends. Maybe not as quickly as you’d like, but that’s why you’ve got to encourage it! I’m sure there’s a kid right now in that school, eating lunch by themselves, and wishing they had some equally socially awkward nerd to hang out with.”

“You think?” You ponder over this imaginary person, picturing Dirk with someone who also can’t seem to maintain eye contact for longer than ten seconds.

“Definitely. Get ready for sleepovers and play-dates because you’re getting the whole shebang.”

“He’s not allowed to date until he’s fifty. No, until I’m dead. Play or otherwise.”

John giggles and hugs you, and you finally relax and press a kiss on the top of his head.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to smile into his hair. He smells like the shirt he left back in your place and it’s comforting. He’s rubbing the small of your back and you think you could definitely fall asleep like this.

It figures right as you’re starting to contemplate kissing him that there’s a knock on your door.

With a reluctant sigh that makes John laugh, you slide off his lap. He smacks your ass as you move away, and you make a mental note to get him back for it. Maybe over your desk.

Yes.

You like this idea.

You open the door and see your secretary there, holding a stack of papers and smiling. “I see young Mr. Strider made it into Skia! That’s wonderful, dear. You must be very happy.”

“Overflowing with joy,” you deadpan, accepting the papers and heading back into your office.

John gets up as you walk over and grabs his book, which now never seems to leave his side. “I have to go call Karkat, but do you want to leave together tonight and hang?”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” You kiss him as he leaves and settle back in your chair, now suddenly much less comfortable. You marvel to yourself how easily John slid into your life. One minute you had papers everywhere, and the next they were gone and you had a cute blue-eyed babe on your lap. Or, you in his.

You wonder if you can start calling him your boyfriend yet.

Shaking off those thoughts, you pick up a pen and sigh at the paperwork in front of you. This was going to be a nightmare. Despite having raised Dirk for his entire life, you have no idea what his social security number is or if he even has one. The court gave you a massive file of stuff the day you got Dirk, but you threw it in a box and you haven’t touched it since.

You think it’s stashed away with the other shit you brought with you from Texas, and you sigh and hope that you don’t have to go digging through those boxes.

The first few questions are easy; name, age, address, the usual.

You put down your office phone and the secretary’s number under contact information. The rest is pretty simple, stuff about the vaccinations he needs and what not. You know he’s up to date thanks to your obsessive worrying, and you also fill out the information needed for a school uniform.

You grin to yourself and decide you’re going to take pictures and wave a handkerchief on his first day, tears optional. He’ll hate you for it, and even more so when he finds out you’ll get a picture of him in his uniform printed out and placed on your desk ironically.

You read over the school supplies list and make a note to take him out shopping later. The last page is the tuition, and even though you’re loaded you still snort at the numbers provided.

You’re in the middle of puzzling out the math for Dirk’s schooling when your phone speaker clicks on.

_“Hi Dave! Karkat made an appointment for tomorrow just so you know. He sounded pretty urgent!”_

You press the button and reply. “Cool, I’ll be here. I’m almost done with shit in here if you’re ready to go.”

_“Sounds good!”_

You smile and shuffle all the papers together, finding a clip in your suspiciously organized drawer—dammit John—and snap them all together. You also grab the latest ideas for your new movie and add them to your pile and then stuff everything in a folder.

You feel like you’ve barely been here a full day, but when you check your watch it’s already the late afternoon. You sigh and get up, checking your phone quickly before heading out.

Dirk’s school starts in a month so you suppose you need to go out this weekend and shop with him. You run through the list again in your head and frown, trying to remember if you needed that much crap back in high school.

You sigh through your nose as you walk out of your office and close the door, suddenly feeling extremely tired. Knowing your agent tomorrow’s meeting will be about something that will give you a migraine, and though you are happy about Dirk going to a real school it’s just one more thing for you to worry about.

Arms warp around your waist, pulling you from your thoughts as a kiss lands on the back of your neck. You relax into the hug and tilt your head back, catching sight of bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.

“What’s got you so happy?” You ask, pulling John along in an awkward shuffle as you both head out to the parking lot.

“Oh nothing,” he says cheerfully, then taps your folder as he untangles his arms from you. “What’s in that?”

“Paperwork for Dirk’s school. It’s mostly filled out but there’s some stuff I need to fact check. I need to get this shit in probably by the end of this week and I was planning on doing it tonight, but since Vantas is coming tomorrow morning I’m thinking about pushing it a day. Besides, I need to get Dirk some school supplies.”

“That sounds like a lot to do in two days. Need any help?” John climbs into the passenger seat of your car and accepts the folder you hand him, tucking it against his chest.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe? I’m trying to think about how to get Dirk’s school supplies without getting mobbed by the press on my way to fucking Target of all places. Like if I’m going to be a good suburban housewife, taking my baby shopping, I damn well can’t be caught without my pearls. Of course, Dirk will die of shame.”

“Naturally,” John says. “Because the option of him trying to out-embarrass you is definitely not something he’d try to do.”

You cast a glance over at him as you drive. “When did you get to know Dirk so well?”

John laughs and you wonder if you need to start preparing for the day they gang up on you. That possibility scares you a bit more than you want to admit.

“Just the impression I got from talking to him the morning I stayed over.”

You pull up to your building and park, sighing as you turn the engine off and roll the keys in your hand as you think about how you want to plan these next few days.

“Why don’t you wait until the weekend to take him shopping?”

“I could, but there’s still the concern about the media. Plus the longer I wait the harder it will be to find stuff.”

“Hmm, yeah you’re right.” John gets out and follows you into the building, taking your hand once you step into the elevator which makes your insides squirm happily.

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor and you go to unlock your home when John suddenly tugs at you.

“Wait, I have an idea.”

You look at him over the rim of your shades, key in the lock. “And it can’t wait until we’re inside?”

“Eh, Dirk will fight it.”

“I’m listening.”

John fidgets and, to your sudden interest, looks a little embarrassed.

“Got something for me?” You finally prod, and he grins nervously.

“Well, what if I took him shopping?”

You stare at him as the hamster wheel in your mind turns, and you probably look disbelieving thanks to your resting poker face.

“You’d do that?” You manage to say, still staring at John whose face is now bright red.

“Yeah, nobody knows either of us so we’d just be a couple of dudes out shopping in a Target. It’s not that big a deal.” John tries to shrug it off but you can see he’s relieved you didn’t shoot the idea down execution style.

“Shit, John, that would be ridiculously helpful. Are you completely sure though? Because as much as I love Dirk, he can be a stubborn little shit sometimes.”

John nods and grins. “It’ll be fun!”

You raise an eyebrow and then finally open the door, stepping in and taking your folder back from John as he follows you in.

“Dirk!” you call out, stepping out of your shoes.

Dirk walks out of his room, not reacting to seeing John there beyond a simple ‘sup?’.

“Hey kid, I got news.” You walk over and fish out the school supplies list. “You got into Skia. You start next month with the second years. Something about you being a nerd.”

Dirk snorts and takes the paper. “Thanks, Bro.”

“Yeah, well here’s the best part.” You keep your face as blank as possible as Dirk looks up from the sheet. You wait, giving the moment that last beautiful second of an ironic pause. “You are going school supplies shopping today, with John.”

Dirk’s eyebrows shoot up and John’s grin is huge. “What?”

“Your brother has work to do so it’ll be just us!” John says cheerfully, and you keep your face straight as Dirk turns to you.

“Bro.”

“Here’s my credit card, get everything on that list,” you say casually, fishing it out of your wallet and handing it to him.

“Bro,” Dirk tries again.

“Oh, and pick up some AJ while you’re out.” You step aside and watch with internalized glee as John approaches your little brother with so much enthusiasm it makes Dirk recoil.

“Don’t look so scared,” John snorts, ushering Dirk out. “I only bite your brother.”

Dirk makes an undignified squawking noise as the door shuts, and you finally let a grin crack open on your face.

You look at the closed door for a moment, feeling oddly peaceful, and then you realize you probably only have an hour before they come back. You open up the folder and sit on the couch, pulling out the papers and grabbing a pen to complete the forms for Dirk’s school.

You’re reviewing everything, chewing on the pen cap and generally doing everything you can to postpone the last few questions you haven’t filled out yet.

They’re general stuff; blood type, social security number, and a couple other things. But you don’t move from your spot on the couch until you’ve triple checked all the other information.

When that’s finally done, you have a weight in your stomach that makes you feel ill. Standing, you grab the last paper and head into your room.

You don’t keep many things in storage, but there is one box that you never unpack. It’s as old as Dirk, and when you pull it out the cardboard is soft and worn. The sides are threatening to split and one of the flaps has long since been ripped off.

There’s a date scrawled into the side, something you never look at if you can help it.

You take a second to breathe, and you glare at your hands as they start to shake on the top of it.

“Get it together, god dammit. Just get his damn birth certificate and get out. Two damn seconds.”

You yank open the box with more force than you intended and the entire thing tips over, spilling the contents on the floor.

You curse and jerk away from it like it might burn you.

Papers, photos, and a few trinkets lay harmlessly by your crossed legs. And for just a second, its fine.

Then the smell hits you, and you’re back in your old apartment fifteen years ago.

_You’re sitting on a chair, the cheap plastic making your ass hurt no matter how you try and move. You have a shit ton of homework for class tomorrow and on top of it you have a double shift at the club tonight that you need to go to if you expect to make rent on time._

_Your studio apartment is cramped with everything you own, but it feels cozy. You have your futon by the window, which is separated off by boxes and a dresser you found on the side of the road. You have a bean bag chair, this hard plastic piece of shit, and a folding table. There’s a tiny kitchen that you can barely turn around in without hitting your elbows on everything._

_It may be a tiny ass home, but it was yours._

_You finish off the last problem in your book and sit back with a grim smile. You’ve been working extra hard as of late, staying after class and getting extra-credit work in hopes to make all A’s this year. Your GPA is fantastic so far, but you need straight A’s if you have a hope in hell in getting a scholarship into college._

_You smile and pull out a tattered magazine, something you’ve been browsing through with every precious spare second of your time._

_You have two colleges circled in it. One is University of Texas, a state school that will be affordable even if you only get a scholarship, rather than a full ride. The other is in California, your dream school. UCLA, one of the hardest damn schools to get into, and you were going to apply in a few months with your straight A’s and hope to every god you know that they’ll accept you and even pay the way._

_All your work is paying off, every last god damn exhausting second of it._

_The phone rings, distracting you from your thoughts of the future._

_With a slight smile still on your face, you answer the phone._

_“Hello?”_

_“Is this David Strider?”_

_You frown, not recognizing the voice. “Yes, who is this?”_

_“This is Doctor Baxtor. I am very sorry to inform you of this, but there has been an accident. Your mother died in childbirth and there is no other relative to contact listed.”_

_Your throat closes up and you can’t move. Nothing makes sense. Why is he calling you? You haven’t seen your parents in two years. When did mom get pregnant? Where was dad? Why are they calling you?_

_“Mr. Strider?”_

_“What?” you say hoarsely._

_“Mr. Strider, there is no other family present. The child survived. It says here that you are of legal age.”_

_That’s bullshit, but you can’t say that. You’ve been lying about your age for the last two years ever since you ran away. It was the only way to enroll in a new school, the only way to get an apartment, the only way to get a job. It didn’t matter, you’d be turning 18 in a few months anyway._

_“Mr. Strider?”_

_“What…” you clear your throat and try again. “Where are you?”_

You find yourself back in your room, staring sightlessly at the contents around you. You remember that day with painful detail. You remember coming to the hospital and refusing to see your mother’s body, asking only about the child.

You remember how kind the nurses were, showing you the room where your baby brother lay swaddled in a blanket.

_“He’s a boy. She didn’t get to name him, so you can pick.”_

The voice rings clear in your mind and you remember writing down the name ‘ _Dirk Strider’_ on the certificate. You remember crumpling to the floor immediately afterwards and sobbing while nurses tried to comfort you. They tried to tell you that your mother was in a good place. All you could hear is that everything you worked for was over.

You tried to resent Dirk for it.

You almost did.

Then one day, a few months after you got Dirk, your father came back and tried to sue you for him.

You took one look at the man who would drunkenly beat your ass as a kid and decided right then that Dirk was _yours._

You fought for a year to keep him, and the only reason you ended up winning was when you finally showed the court picture-proof evidence of his abuse.

It made you throw up.

That was all they needed to officially make you Dirk Strider’s legal guardian.

He got hit by a drunk driver a year later and died. You didn’t go to the funeral.

A piece of paper catches your attention and you pull it out, recognizing it as Dirk’s birth certificate. His name is still clear as ever, and you hug it to your chest fiercely. 

You put everything back into the box, finding Dirk’s social security number as you do and managing to write everything down. It takes you longer than needed, because your hand keeps shaking and your vision is blurry, though you can’t figure out why.

You shove everything back into the box when you’re done and practically throw the thing back under your bed.

There.

It wasn’t as bad as the last time you opened it.

The door to your home opens and you jolt up, hearing John’s laugh and Dirk’s voice float through the house.

You reach up and realize your face is wet.

You yank off your shades and rub your face right as the door opens and John pokes his head in.

“Dave, we’re back! Do you…Dave?”

You stand up and shove your shades back on. “Yeah, hey, how was shopping?”

Your voice cracks and you scowl, clearing your throat.

John pauses, and for one god awful second you think he’s going to ask.

“It went great,” John says instead, and you breathe again. “But Dirk says that since you were, uh, a well I’m not going to repeat the entire metaphor, but basically he is going to make you watch a shitty movie with us as payback for not coming.”

“Oh god, what movie?” You finally turn around, feeling composed enough to face John.

“My favorite. We’re watching Ghost Busters.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” you groan, and you hear Dirk laugh from the living room.

You both go back out and Dirk tells you about the new backpack he bought while you make popcorn. He’s thrilled with the My Little Pony pencil pouch he got, and then punches John when he tells you that they had to look in the little girl’s aisle to find it.

The three of you settle into the couch for the movie, and neither of them protest when you wrap your arms around them both and hug them a little harder than normal.

Dirk just gives you a small smile and John rests his head on your shoulder until you feel fine enough to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dave, i keep making him suffer  
> Please tell me what you think, i love your comments ^u^


	9. Chapter 9

You’re greeted the next morning at work by your secretary who looks extremely hassled. She barely gives you a wave as you walk in, talking very firmly with someone on the other end of a phone as she frantically writes notes down.

John is sitting next to her and he gives your confused look a shrug before turning back and jotting something down on a piece of paper between them. He looks a little riled up too, but that’s nothing compared to what awaits you in your office.

“Strider!” Vantas barks, and you sigh and rub the bridge of your nose as you enter your office. It’s too damn early for this.

“Vantas. I see you’re early for our appointment.” You walk around him and sit in your office chair, leaning back and closing your eyes behind your shades.

“Since when do I need a damn appointment to talk to you? Did you read the paper?” Vantas jumps from one topic to the next with such speed you would think they were related.

“Just the cover. Typical bullshit. Why?”

Vantas glares and slams his hands on your desk, making you twitch as you open your eyes.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Maybe you’d know if you bothered to read the entire paper! There is an elite group of film writers and producers who meet every few years to read and review each other’s works.  They go over screen plays, dialogue, costumes, the whole nine yards. Now, Strider, use your damn brain and tell me where you think they’re located?”

You grimace. “Italy?”

“Exactly.” Vantas starts pacing, and you sit up because you haven’t seen him this agitated since Hollywood signed a ten year contract with you.

You make a mental note to ask Vantas later if you needed to get a new contract sometime soon.

“You don’t understand how big this group is. Every film to come out of there gets nominated. Every single one. They usually win too, for international film awards and such.” He’s started gesturing, waving his hands around like there are bugs swarming his head.

“Your movie caught their eye. I got a call last night from the head of their group. He has a friend in the paper that mentioned it to him. He apparently watched your movie and thought it was ‘a masterpiece before its time’ or some shit.”

You snort and Vantas nods in agreement.

You love your films, but you are the first person to admit they’re a whole different kind of beast. The term ‘cinematic brilliance’ makes you twitch.

“Dave,” Vantas says, and you pop out of your thoughts to openly stare at him. “They want you to join their group.”

“Uh, okay? So what, it’s like some secret illuminati bullshit only about films?”

He groans and you are starting to feel a little exasperated yourself.

“Let me spell this out. This group of people is _reaching out to you_ and offering you a chance of a fucking life time. They are the best of the best. They have connections to everyone. You want fucking George Washington resurrected to star in your next film? They can probably do it. They can get anyone, any musician, artist, stage director, anyone at all, to come work on a film they decide to support. They called me last night to say they decided to support your next film.”

You frown and lean back, crossing your arms. “What, so some secret bunch of Italians want to come here and tell me how to run my movie? I don’t think so.”

Vantas groans and holds his head in his hands. “Strider for fucks sake, listen to what I’m saying! They won’t tell you shit, only offer help. They can get you _anything_. You next movie could take place on fucking Mars!”

“Cool,” you say neutrally, but internally your thoughts are going haywire. As much as you don’t care what a bunch of Italian strangers have to say about your work, you do actually care a lot when it comes to your movies and your fans. You already have been struggling to make your third movie something better than the last two combined, and the thought of becoming a washed-up producer sometimes gave you nightmares.

With this offer you could go hard on the special effects, maybe even hire that one score writer you have been wanting on your team for years now.

“I can schedule a conference call later today, they’re really eager to talk to you,” Vantas says, taking your silence as encouragement to go on.

“Alright, I’ll hear what they offer.”

“There’s one other thing,” Vantas adds, hesitant as you cock your head at him.

“Spill it.”

“They don’t insist on anything except one thing.”

“Which is?”

“While you’re making your movie you need to be within close proximity to the group so they can know what’s going on. So, basically, if you were to say yes, you’d be living in Italy for however long this next production will take.”

“Very funny, Vantas,” you say stiffly, but when he doesn’t add anything else you frown. “I can’t move to fucking Italy. I have a kid and a life here, not to mention a contract with your ass.”

“I would go too, but since you’re the script writer and the director, we’d be the only ones over there for now. They’ll fly the cast and crew over during filming, but that would be it. Of course your family can come, I doubt they’ll say no.”

“And what about my secretary and event planner?” You keep your tone light, but your heart is beginning to race as you process all of this.

“Their jobs can be done from here.” Vantas waves his hand and your heart almost stops.

You know full well how long it takes to make a movie, and you know that a fragile new relationship sure as hell can’t last the sudden onslaught of long-distance.

“I’ll arrange for the call. You can ask questions then and get the gist of it all,” Vantas says, and you nod without really thinking.

“Dave,” Vantas says, and you look at him as he goes to leave. “This is a really great opportunity. Think about it.”

 He leaves and you’re left there, staring dumbly at the closed door.

You…honestly don’t know what to do.

When John sends you a message saying the conference call is about to begin you don’t respond to him, too busy trying to put your thoughts into words. How can you convince them that you do need your event planner? Everything John does can be done on a computer from the States, and no matter how you cut it this isn’t going to fly. You could call him your partner, but the news already published an article about your new staff member. If they were as good as your agent says, they’ll have done their research.

The phone rings and you swear, jolting upright. You don’t feel anything as you pick up the phone.

“Dave Strider.”

And so the call begins.

It starts off with introductions and pleasantries in thick accents from various European countries you can’t really pick out. They complement your work and your unique style, to which you offer a deadpanned reply that you have no style and they laugh. There’s four of them, that you count, and they seem to like you. You find the conversation easy to keep up with, and Vantas joins in once you’re all comfortable with each other.

Then the business begins.

The next two hours are filled with endless questions from both your respective parties, ranging from movie ideas to your preferred wine. You tell them you’re more of a beer person and they laugh, calling you an American which you shrug and take with pride. One of them mentions a pub he’d like to take you too and Vantas redirects the conversation back to business.

They discuss your movies in great detail, calling attention to brief snippets of symbolism that you’re surprised they caught. They especially seem to enjoy your disdain for cooperation’s, and one of the Italians cheerfully starts belittling their own government.

You like these guys, they’re different from what you’re used to. The usual cold snobbery of Hollywood is completely absent as they talk about their own films and goals, and they make it clear they hope to include you on their endeavors. You know this is business, and that you would be one of their new ‘connections’, probably one of the few American ones as well, but they have a lot of resources to their disposal, which they make a point to mention often.

You begin spit-balling, describing ideas and thoughts for your third movie, and they offer their own ideas as well as names and numbers of people to get in touch with.

Every second that passes convinces you more and more that this would change your career for the better. Every second that passes kills you a little more inside.

If you did this, you would be set.

If you did this you would most likely lose John. Even if you did put everything on hold while you were abroad, you know that picking it up when you return is unlikely.

If you did this, Dirk and his potential children would not have to worry about money for the rest of their lives.

If you did this, your third movie would break records.

If you did this, your career would explode even more than it has.

If you did this, you would be back down to only having two people who care about you.

When you hang up the phone, Vantas comes back into your office with a determined look on his face.

“Well? What did you think?”

You run your hand through your hair, still feeling hollow and numb. “They sound perfect. They already said they could arrange a meeting with that score-writer I want within the first month of my script being finished.”

“They said you can bring your family too,” Vantas prods, and you nod absently.

“I’ll talk to Dirk.”

“Let me know what you think tomorrow. They are busy people, so don’t let it sit for too long.”

He leaves, and you try and start to think about what exactly you need for this next movie. It’s a distraction, and you should at least have a game plan for when they ask again about what you need. You work until it’s time to go home, and then work some more. Everything in front of you looks like scribbles, and honestly it probably is. You don’t know where your head is right now.

Your phone has been buzzing for the past few minutes but you barely register it.

You don’t look up when you hear the door open and you barely notice when someone stands in front of you. Your eyes are intently following the lines your pen draws, and you think it’s a picture because that’s not any letter you’re familiar with.

“Dave?”

You frown as you try and figure out what it is your hand is drawing. It might be a horse, and that makes you think of Dirk. Your hand jerks to the side, slashing the thing in half with a black streak.

“Dave?”

A hand touches your shoulder and you look up, taking a couple seconds to register beautiful blue eyes and tousled black hair.

“John.”

“There you are! Jeez, you sure were deep in thought there. Was it about your next movie?” John looks over at your work and you quickly cover it with your arm.

“No.” You realize you sounded curt and try again. “I need to have a talk with Dirk. I was thinking about how to go about it.”

“Oh, about school again?”

Oh shit, you forgot to fax his papers.

You jolt upright and look around, not quite sure what you’re looking for. The papers are in your drawer and you quickly pull them out, once again not hearing John until he taps you again.

“Dave, whoa, what’s up?” John’s smile is soft and friendly and you want to run away.

“I forgot to ask my secretary to fax these papers to Dirk’s school,” you say hoarsely.

“Oh! That’s not a big deal, I can do that now.” John gently takes the folder from your clenched fist and smooths it out. He smiles at you again. “Go home and talk to Dirk. I’ll take care of this.”

He moves to walk around you and you get this overwhelming sense of dread.

“Wait, John.” You lunge forward and grab his wrist, freezing as he turns to look at you with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah?”

You struggle for a moment, your mind full of words and hopes and your tongue too thick to move. After a minute you finally let go of him and smile as best you can. “Thank you.”

John grins and rolls his eyes. “Of course, you goof. It’s my job. Now go home!” He playfully swats you with the folder and then heads out.

You gather up the rest of your things, including the weird scribble pad, and then head out. You wonder over Dirk’s response to all this during the drive home, not really knowing what to expect. On one hand he wants to be involved in your life, and you know he has some neglect issues thanks to your shitty parenting. You’re pretty sure being away 24/7 as a young parent messed him up. But on the other hand he’s starting a new school and you both already went through a lot of trouble to do this.

You have a headache when you finally open your front door. You drop your keys on the table by the entrance and kick off your shoes, deciding to just get it over with.

“Kid, c’mere.” You push up your shades and rub your eyes as Dirk pokes his head out of his room, looking peeved.

“Welcome home, Bro. And for future reference, you can always come to me. It’s not like I ever move.”

His sarcasm barely registers as you adjust your shades back on your nose. “Right, I’ll keep that in mind. I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Dirk leans against the doorway, seemingly uninterested.

“I got a pretty big offer for my next movie. Basically a bunch of dudes trying to be my sugar daddy.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Except the sugar daddies in question want their new twink to come out and live in their area while the movie is being written and filmed.”

“Where’s your new brothel going to be?”

“Italy.”

Dirk doesn’t react openly, but you can see the gears in his head start to turn.

“The invite is open to you as well, of course. They want the whole Strider package, two for the price of one. Buy one get the other sort of deal, shipping included. Might even through in a set of steak knives, who knows? Bet I could wrangle that.”

“I’ve got classes starting in a few weeks, Bro. We already paid the first year’s tuition.”

“There are schools in Italy,” you say mildly, but you already know the decision has been made.

Dirk shakes his head and you sigh.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. You’re old enough to stay here while I’m gone, and I’ll fly back on holidays and such, but you damn well better call me every day so I know your ass is home safe, got it?”

“Yes mom,” Dirk deadpans.

You feel guilty, you both know how long it takes to make a movie. You won’t be flying home every weekend either and you feel almost like you’re abandoning the kid to go run off in an exotic country with a mistress. The mistress being your work and your movie sugar daddies.

“Have you told John?” Dirk says, interrupting your internal monologue.

You press you lips together in a thin line and Dirk sighs.

“I won’t tell you what to do, Bro. But if you’re leaving soon you might want to mention it.”

You watch him disappear back into his room and feel a dull ache open up inside you. You want to go hug him, but you’re pretty sure you’ll get a sword in the ribs for your effort.

Instead you go to your room and spend the next two hours writing texts to John, only to delete them before hitting send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for commenting so far it's such great fuel for writing!!  
> Let me know what you think ^u^


	10. Chapter 10

It’s the night before you leave for Italy and you haven’t told John. You’re pretty sure he suspects something, seeing as you have no events for him to schedule and he’s been remarking on the lightness of his book.

You need to tell him, but you don’t know what to tell him because either way one of you is going to have to break your heart and you don’t think you can handle either option.

So instead you call him and ask if you can hang at his place for a beer and movie night.

He sounds excited after you hang up and you feel slimy.

Dirk, to his credit, hasn’t said a word about it. He helped you pack, gave you some tips on makeup that you made a huge show of writing down, and told you not to contract any weird diseases while you were abroad. You have 5 bags and all but one are full of clothes. You can’t help it, you love clothes.

You head over to John’s in the early evening, not bothering to tell Dirk because he probably already knew. He was preparing for school to start next week anyway, and you spent the entire car ride to John’s belittling yourself for missing Dirk’s first day.

You’re the worst parent.

You pull up and do your typical scan to see if there are any suspicious looking characters about who might be hiding cameras in oversized purses. Seeing nobody too outlandish, you get out of your car and walk up to John’s door.

You knock, six pack of beer in hand, and feel the knot in your chest loosen ever-so-slightly when he opens the door and gives you his trademark smile.

“Hi Dave! I just ordered some pizza, come on in!”

You step in and kick off your shoes, following John into his house. You take a second to look around because the last time you were here you didn’t get a chance to take in the scenery.

The entrance way of his house leads directly into a long, broad hallway. At the end is his bedroom, which you know from your last visit. To the side of you is a large open archway that leads into what looks like the living room. There’s another, smaller arch down the hall towards his bedroom, and from what you can see it’s probably the kitchen.

You follow John into the living room and realize the house is basically split in half, this half being the rooms and the other being the hallway. The living room flows into a small dining room, and sure enough there’s a kitchen in the back with an archway back into the hallway. You see one other door tucked away which you assume to be an extra bathroom.

It’s small, but John kept the space as open and light as possible.

“Nice place,” you comment, setting down the beer on the table by a couch.

“Thanks, I’m just renting it though. The lady who lives here died or something so her family is renting it to me.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Somebody died here? Damn Egbert, this place is probably haunted. We better bust out the Ouija board and sacrifice a skinny blonde chick because I can feel a bad horror movie coming up. Does that make me the comic relief character? Shit. Blonde girl stays then and I become first sacrifice.”

John ignores your rambling and fiddles with the TV remote, pulling up the title screen of the movie he picked for you both. When he’s done with that he walks over and watches you for a second, the corner of his mouth curling upwards as you continue on about how young death is a tragedy and you’ll be damned if Dirk sees a cent of your money because he obviously set the whole thing up.

You’ve just gotten yourself started on funeral ideas when John kisses you, interrupting your plan on releasing 100 white doves with soft, warm lips and gentle hands on your waist.

Your eyes close and you wrap your arms around his neck, relishing the feeling of John’s broad hands on your thin waist. His hands grip you and pull you slightly closer, and your body tingles as you feel John’s chest against your own. He’s so much more solid than you are, all steady curves in comparison to your sharp thin frame.

The doorbell rings, breaking you out of your musings and your kiss as John pulls away.

“Probably the pizza,” he says, pulling out his wallet as he heads to the door.

“Let me,” you insist, and then try and wrestle him away from the handle because like hell you’re letting him pay.

His sturdy frame is not for show apparently because he opens the door with your head locked under his arm.

“Hello! I’ll take that,” John says pleasantly as you struggle, taking the pizza and slipping the kid a tip.

“Uh, thank you sir. Is…is that Dave Strider?” The pizza boy asks, his voice pitching up in hope.

“Nope! Good night!” John shuts the door and finally releases you.

“Augh John, what the hell,” you whine, trudging after him and doing your best not to look like you’re sulking.

“You brought the beer, I get the food,” John says pleasantly, setting the pizza down next to the aforementioned drinks and then settling into the couch.

He pats his lap and grins. “Come?”

You scoff and sit next to him instead. “I’m a lady John, don’t go and try to tarnish my honor.”

“Terribly sorry about that,” John says around a smirk, and then offers you a beer.

You take it and turn as John starts the movie, feeling at ease. It’s just another night with John. You absently scoot closer to him as you crack open your beer, wondering what monstrosity of a film he picked for you this time.

It turns out to be some movie up for an Oscar award and isn’t half bad, though you aren’t really paying much attention. Throughout the movie you’ve been strategically trying to get closer to John without him noticing. You put your arm around him, scooted right up against him under the pretext of reaching for a slice of pizza, and currently you’re practically sandwiched together on the couch.

His head is resting on your chest and your face is buried in his hair as you absently rub his arm. He’s still entranced by the movie, and you love feeling how his breathing changes in response to the screen.

You feel resigned, and the smell of greasy cheese pizza and John’s hair masks the dull throb of what’s to come. You close your eyes and inhale, taking it all in and trying to memorize everything. The weight of John on you, the feeling of his pulse hammering away as he jerks at something from the movie, how he automatically pushes closer to you for comfort which you provide in the form of a sweet kiss to the top of his head.

How can you leave him?

You can tell when the movie is winding down because John’s breathing evens out and he relaxes, turning to smile at you as the credits roll. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” you say absently, then tip his chin up with your hand and capture him in a kiss.

He smiles and kisses you back, easy and unsuspecting. His hand finds your hair and strokes it, something oddly soothing in contrast to the teeth now nibbling at your lips.

You part your lips at the silent question and let him push his tongue against yours. His body is warm and you don’t realize you’re pressing into him until the hand in your hair suddenly tightens and pulls you back with a gasp.

“You’re pushing me off the couch,” John murmurs, shifting and then moving closer to kiss your now exposed throat.

You make a small noise in the back of your throat as you feel John’s lips press against your fluttering pulse, firm and warm. He kisses it once more before moving to the side, gently tugging at your hair to make your head tilt for him.

You let him do what he wants, because it’s only fair in your mind. He kisses and nips down your neck until his teeth hit a spot that make you whine. Then he bites, and your whine comes out as a strangled moan this time as he sucks on your neck hard enough to no doubt leave a prominent mark.

“Ah, John…” You grab him and pull him closer to you, falling back onto the couch and pulling him on top of you. He yelps and you laugh softly, surprised when it comes out low and husky. John’s eyes darken and then he’s kissing you again, hands sliding down your sides and to your hips and back up again.

“Dave,” he whispers against your lips, and your hands clench the back of his shirt. He sounds so good, and you love how he’s pressing you down into the couch to the point it’s a little hard to breathe. You love the quick shallow breaths you snatch between your kisses, and all you can feel is electricity as his fingers brush along a strip of skin exposed by your shirt riding up.

He pulls back for a moment and you probably make a really ridiculous face about it because he laughs and kisses your forehead. “It’s nice to see you back.”

“Back? Where did I go?” you grumble, trying to tug him back down to no avail.

“I don’t know, but these last couple of weeks you’ve been really out of it. It’s like I was dating a zombie,” John smiles and sits up properly, and you are about to protest when you realize his perfect ass is perched right over your hardening cock.

“Um,” you eloquently reply.

John just shakes his head at you and then leans down to kiss you, and it feels like you were just handed the world. The sick feeling in your stomach is because you’re about to hand it back.

When John breaks away for air, smile still lingering on his lips, you finally say it.

“I’m leaving.”

The second that follows you watch John’s relaxed, warm expression shift into confusion, and then his eyebrows furrow as he realizes what you said.

“You’re leaving?”

You are frozen, hyperaware of his body on yours and the centimeters between your faces. You can feel his heartbeat on your chest and his small puffs of breath on your cheek.

“Yeah.”

John cocks his head, looking puzzled. “I know. I mean, why else would your schedule be so clear? Is it like a vacation or something?”

Panic wells up in you and you do your best to keep your voice from shaking. You are so grateful you kept your shades on because otherwise he’d be able to read you like a book.

“Not really. It’s for work.”

“A business trip, then?” John still is looking at you like he can’t figure out why you brought this up now and all you can think of is the plane ticket sitting on your bedside table for tomorrow night.

“Sort of,” you whisper.

John sits back up and pulls off you, watching as you hastily curl yourself into the far corner. “Dave, a business trip isn’t a big deal. Is that what you were so worried about? I mean I know you’re not a huge fan of crowds and stuff but I know you can do it.”

You press your hands against your thighs to stop yourself from twisting them together out of nervousness. You need to tell him where you’re going, you need to tell him that you’re leaving and you’re not coming back for a long time. And then you need to sit there and listen as he tries to stumble his way through telling you that it’s a bit too much to ask for and that maybe he’ll see you when you get back.

“Dave, you look sick.” John scoots forward and pauses when you recoil from him.

You hate this. You hate how vulnerable he makes you.

“Dave. Stop freaking out I know you’re over thinking I can _see_ it.” John takes your head in both his hands and forces you to look at him. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

You stare at his eyes and it echoes in your memory of the first day you met him, how his eyes deserved a long winded metaphor to try and describe their beauty. Months later, and you still have no words.

“I’m leaving to go work in Italy. I got an offer from a prestigious group to help me make my third movie. They’ve offered me a lot of resources that I need if I want to stay relevant. I’ll be there until I get the movie done, filming and all.”

John takes a breath and nods.

“Okay. When are you leaving?”

You swallow thickly. “Tomorrow.”

“That…that really sucks.”

You choke on a laugh, the tension in your chest snapping and finally settling itself down into your core as a tangible emotion. You’re sad. You’re sad and everything about this sucks.

“It really fucking does,” you sigh, letting your head fall back onto the couch, your legs relaxing under you into a more comfortable position.

John mimics your position, feet propped on the table and head leaning back against the couch. His hand slowly finds yours and tangles your fingers together.

You hold onto it tightly and stare at his ceiling.

“Is Dirk going too?” John finally says, breaking the silence.

You shake your head and John squeezes your hand sympathetically.

“He’ll be glad I won’t be around. Nobody to take that embarrassing first day of school photo.”

“I doubt that.”

You shrug and don’t reply.

You sit there for a while, doing your best not to think and rather feel the seconds pass by. Every tick of the clock creates a beat in your head and every thump of John’s heartbeat creates a song and you just sit there and listen.

You wonder if John knows how long it takes to make a movie.

You turn your head to look at him. “Come with me?”

John smiles up at the ceiling sadly. “I can’t.”

“I know.” You turn back to the ceiling.

More time passes and you focus on how John’s hand feels in your own. Warm, big, and secure, like his hugs. You think you’ll miss that the most, how he hugs you with his entire body.

You wonder what John’s thinking about, then decide you don’t want to know.

“What do you want to do?” John finally says softly, and you pretend not to hear him. He waits, and you close your eyes again behind your shades.

“Dave,” John says quietly, and you feel him shift.

You keep your eyes closed and your body limp as he moves around. You feel him get up and you slowly release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You listen as he cleans up, throwing out empty beer bottles and moving the pizza box into the fridge. You hear his feet padding along on the carpet and are amazed by how familiar it sounds.

The couch dips beside you and you don’t open your eyes as you feel him lean over you. You wait, and so does he, until he finally presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

You slowly open your eyes and turn to him, bringing your hand up and cupping his face. You don’t know how to tell him about the burning feeling in your chest when you look at him, or how happy it makes you when you see him and Dirk talking together. You don’t know how to tell him how easily he slipped into your life, or how you feel like he’s always been a part of it.

So you kiss him instead. You kiss him and hope he understands because you sure as hell don’t.

John gasps at the intensity and then grips the front of your shirt, pulling you in and kissing you back hard. He makes a small noise as you pull him onto your lap, letting him straddle you before bringing him back down and crashing your mouth against his.

You hear John moan and it makes you desperate to have him closer. You wrap your arms around him and break the kiss to continue down his jaw, neck, and chest, anywhere you can reach. He’s squirming and it’s causing him to grind into you, which only makes you redouble your efforts.

His hands are pulling at your shirt and you separate from him for an instant to let him pull it off and then he’s shoving you back into the back of the couch and exploring your chest with his hands.

You let your head fall back, relishing how exposed you feel as he runs his hands down the sharp planes of your chest. He touches old scars that still ache with memory and when you twitch and whine he slides down off your lap to run his tongue over them.

You jerk and gasp, then fall back with a moan at the sight of John kneeling between your legs. He kisses his way across your stomach, and laughs when you tell him to stop teasing you.

Instead he stands up and offers you a hand, which you take and allow John to pull you to your feet.

He wraps his arms around you and kisses you with a passion that leaves you breathless and shaking. John’s hands are all over you, touching and kneading as he maneuvers you skillfully out into the hallway and back towards his bedroom.

You break away and grin, cupping the front of his jeans and squeezing, earning a stuttering moan of surprise. “Can’t have me that easily, Egbert.”

John raises his eyebrows and pushes your hand away. “I think I can, Mr. Strider.”

You cheeks heat up and you bolt, feeling him pounding behind you as you both race to the bedroom. It’s ridiculous, and you feel lightheaded as he practically throws you on top of his bed and jumps after you. You shout and make a scene but he gets you pinned under his body with minimal effort.

Some tiny part in the back of your mind says you’re avoiding your problems, but the other part says that you brought it up and that’s enough maturity for one day. The rest of the conversation can wait.

John kisses you hard and you moan, catching his shirt in your hands and pushing it up demandingly until he finally relents and lets you take it off.

“Gosh, you’re such a child,” he mutters, and you give him a wicked grin as he leans down to kiss you again.

“If I’m a child, then do you want me to call you Daddy?” you practically croon, and John gives you a horrified expression.

“Ew! No! What the hell, Dave!” He shoves himself up and gives you a disgusted look, but you just stifle your laughter and push your shades up, giving him the best kicked puppy look you can.

“You’re so ridiculous,” he grumbles, but doesn’t stay away for long.

You smile as he kisses you again, running your hands through his unruly dark hair. Your breath hitches as his hands move over your body, touching and rubbing every inch of you except where you need it the most.

You don’t ask though, not yet, preferring to let John explore you for however long he wants. It’s wonderfully slow, and you slowly get more and more aroused as he starts kissing along your collarbone while his fingers map out your waist.

You are shaking by the time his lips get to your hips, and he gives you a sly look that makes you groan. John’s tongue flicks out and traces a line along the hem of your pants and you can feel your dick twitch from the sight.

“You look so good, Dave,” John whispers, his breath cooling down the wet strip of skin by your navel and sending chills through you.

You try and say something back but it comes out in a needy whine, which makes John laugh quietly. His hands are kneading your inner thighs through your jeans which are quickly becoming uncomfortable.

You curl up and grab John, pushing him over and crawling on top of him. You hear your shades clack as they hit the floor and internally wince. Your concern vanishes a second later because John is giving you this hungry look like he wants to devour you and is just waiting for you to come close enough for him to do so.

“Stop staring and kiss me,” John demands, his voice low. You obey without a second thought, making small noises as he pushes his tongue into your mouth and holds you against him.

You roll your hips without thinking, and the both of you moan at the friction. You can feel how hard he is and it makes you need him. You reach down and hastily unbutton your jeans, needing some relief. John’s hands knock your away and take their place, unzipping you and shoving your pants down below your ass before doing a similar thing for himself.

“Fuck, Dave,” John moans as you grind into him, the thin cloth of your respective boxers leaving nothing to the imagination as you pushed your cock against his.

You’re panting into his neck, thrusting against him as his hands roam frantically over your body. You gasp when he claws at your back, the slight sting sending white hot pleasure through your body.

“Again, please, John do it again,” you babble in his ear, but thankfully he understands and rakes his nails down your body again.

“Mngh yes…” You kiss John’s neck sloppily, and then suddenly he’s pushing you off and your back hits the covers, drawing a surprised huff from you.

You’re about to ask when you see John kicking off his jeans and shoving down his underwear, and you stare openly because god damn you can’t get enough of his body. You manage to wiggle your way out of your own pants and underwear while staring, and you feel your face redden as you see John give you an appreciative glance.

You move for him right as he goes to get on top of you and you both end up in a tangle of heated bodies and moans. You feel John’s muscles bunch under your fingers as he tries to pin you again and it goes right to your already painfully hard cock.

He doesn’t have to push you very hard before you’re on your back again and he’s rocking his hips into you.

You don’t know if you’re going to last much longer with John playing on all your kinks like this, and you try and fight the haze of pleasure in your mind to tell him what you need so badly.

“John…mngh, wait, John, hang on a second— _fuck oh god!_ ” You grip the sheets as John bites you, and you are shaking when he pulls back to look at you.

“Did I hurt you?” John’s expression quickly changes to concern and you have to shake your head because words are not an option right now.

“No,” you finally manage to pant, and feel your heart warm at the relief on his face. “That’s not it. I was getting close.”

“Oh,” John bites his lip and frowns. “We can stop if you want?”

“No, god no,” you practically sputter, and John smiles at your tone. “No it’s…”

You honestly have no subtle way about asking so you just decide to stop beating around the bush and say it outright.

“Can you finger me?”

John’s face turns red and you squirm a bit under him.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly add, but John’s already reaching for something in his nightstand drawer. You lean up to see him pull back with a small bottle of lube and feel your heart rate increase at the little mischievous smile playing around his lips.

“Depends if you beg nicely enough,” John purrs, and you make a noise like a mouse being stepped on.

John’s grin widens and he slowly pushes you back down onto the bed. You can’t believe this is happening and you watch as John pours some lube on his fingers and then curls them around your cock. You groan and buck into his hand, then pause as something warm and tingly spreads through you.

John’s watching you with that coy look, his hand slowly working over your cock as you try to figure out what the feeling is.

“John, mngh, is that warming lube?” Your dick twitches in John’s hand, the heat making it pulse.

“Yep,” he says, smile growing slightly. “I figured you would enjoy it inside of you.”

“Oh god,” you moan, your head falling back as you imagine how good it’s going to feel. “John, please…”

“Come on now, Mr. Strider. I know you can do better than that.” John’s voice is silky and full of lust, making your back arch off the bed as you moan for him.

“ _Please_ ,” you manage to get out, and he smiles.

“Better.” His hand disappears and you feel something slick and warm circle around your entrance.

You spread your legs for him without a thought and try and tilt your hips up to finally get him in you, but he resists until you realize what he’s waiting for.

“John,” you pant, “John please fuck me.”

John shivers and bites his lower lip to muffle a needy sound of his own, and then finally pushes his finger into you. He’s careful but firm, sliding it in and out until you relax into him and start making pleasurable noises again.

“John, oh god yes,” you shudder as you feel him add another finger, and then his other hand is back on your cock, stroking you as he starts to move them. You feel so good, and you hope some of that is being conveyed to John through your pleading cries for more.

You feel him lean over you and you start kissing your chest, and you keen as you feel his cock brush against your own. He thrusts his fingers into you and moans as you call out his name.

“There?” John hits the spot again, and you claw at the sheets and beg for more.

You feel his fingers slide out and then when they push back in there’s a third and it’s too much and you’re completely lost as he finger fucks you harder and harder.

“John, oh god yes, John please, more, oh fuck I’m so close, oh god, John—!” You choke on his name as he thrusts this fingers into you once last time, striking that spot inside of you that finally snaps the coiled tension.

“Dave, Dave you look so good,” he whispers in your ear as you come around his fingers, shaking and moaning loud enough for his neighbors to hear. He waits until your body stops trembling before sliding his fingers out of you, and you make a tiny noise in response.

You sit up, feeling drunk on pleasure. You smile at him and pull him towards you, kissing him messily and whining as his hands wander over your hypersensitive body.

Your own hand finds his achingly hard cock and you start to stroke him, whispering encouragement and compliments as he falls back and lets you touch him.

You lean over John and pepper his chest with kisses as you tell him how gorgeous he is, how much you love him like this, how hot he looks when you touch him. You watch his body grow tense as he grips your shoulders, panting and flushed as your hand works his cock faster.

“That’s it baby, just let go, let me have you,” you murmur in his ear, and that’s all it takes.

John’s nails dig into your skin as he arches off the bed and comes with a low moan. You watch him, mesmerized as his body coils and releases. You kiss him when he finishes, pressing yourself against him as he sluggishly wraps his arms around you and kisses you back with a smile on his face.

“Wow,” he finally says, opening his eyes and giving you a blissful smile.

“Wow indeed,” you say, feeling your own mouth twitch up in the corners.

John kisses your cheek and you feel your heart expand in your chest, filling you up until it almost hurts. You can’t stop smiling so you instead burrow up against him, pushing your face into the crook of his neck. You’re dimly aware of John reaching for some tissues on his bedside table, wiping himself and your hand clean, but you don’t respond further than kissing his neck as he tosses it somewhere in the room.

John laughs softly and, after a bit of maneuvering, manages to get the covers over both of you.

“Stay the night?” He presses his lips to the top of your head.

“Of course.” Your arms tighten around him. You feel his hand start to rub your back and a sense of peace washes over you. You hear John ask you something but you’re too far gone, and in seconds you’re asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice job avoiding the problem, David.   
> Let me know what you think, i love hearing from ya'll ^u^


	11. Chapter 11

When you wake up there’s a warm, solid weight on top of you. You lie there for a while, eyes closed, enjoying the pleasant fuzziness of your mind as you slowly wake up. You’re warm and comfortable and everything smells like John.

You remember last night, and your eyes slowly open as it all comes in like a gentle wave. You recall finally telling him about your trip and your arms tighten automatically on John’s sleeping form.

He mumbles and shifts, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

You look down at him and smile, running your hand along his bare back. His tan skin looks like caramel in the morning light, and you’re feeling very sappy and poetic by the time John finally starts to stir.

“Mornin’,” John mumbles, kissing your neck and snuggling closer.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” You press a kiss to the top of his head. You’re aware that every second that passes is a second closer to you having to finish getting ready for tonight, but right now you feel safe and warm in John’s bed.

You both lie there for a little while, trading soft kisses and talking quietly about nothing until John finally stretches and says something about breakfast.

“Want to go out to eat?” John asks, and you nod as you sit up and watch him move about his room. Your eyes rove over his body, memorizing every inch of it.

You grimace when John finds your shades on the floor, remembering your rough treatment of them last night. Thankfully they’re fine, and you put them on first before anything else which makes John laugh.

“Do you know if Dirk is awake now? We could swing by and grab him and all go out for breakfast,” John says casually as he buttons a green and blue flannel shirt.

“Yeah, and if not I’ll wake his ass up. Kid shouldn’t be sleeping all day,” you mutter to yourself, though inside you’re beaming at the thought of a family breakfast.

Shit, are you including John in that last statement?

You pause in your search for your pants and try and figure out exactly what you mean by that, when a shirt hits you in the back of the head.

“What’s this?” You straighten up and pull the shirt off your shoulder, flapping it out.

“A clean shirt. You can change when we stop by your place, I just figured a lovely lady such as yourself wouldn’t be caught dead in the clothes she arrived in. The neighbors might talk.”

“Such a gentleman, I’m swooning,” you deadpan, but pull the shirt on quickly. You find your jeans and tug them on, finally ready as John slips on his sneakers.

You pat your pockets and find your keys, phone, and wallet all where you left them. You pull out your phone as you and John head outside to find your car and send Dirk a quick text to let him know the plans.

The drive over is quick and since Dirk is waiting in the lobby you decide that’s a good enough excuse to keep wearing John’s shirt.

Dirk crawls into the back of your car and doesn’t say a word until you find an appropriately sketchy diner for breakfast. You think he fell asleep at one point, given the little jolt he gave when you stopped the car.

A few people do double takes as you walk in, but thankfully none of them come over to talk to you. Your waitress seems highly unimpressed by you as well so you count this diner as a success.

You and Dirk get coffee while John sticks with water, and you and Dirk order a ridiculous amount of food in comparison to John’s stack of pancakes and side of bacon.

The three of you chat idly as you make your way through the mountain of food you order, and it’s the early afternoon before Dirk taps your elbow and reminds you of the remaining packing you’ve been putting off.

“I’ll come help, if you want,” John offers, and you agree quickly.

After a quick squabble, you manage to get the bill away from John and pay it while Dirk rolls his eyes at the two of you.

On the drive back John asks Dirk about his upcoming classes, and you’re surprised when Dirk actually answers.

“I loved science classes when I was your age,” John says happily as the three of you fit into the elevator. “Biology was my favorite subject.”

“Dude, nah, physics is where it’s at. You learn how this entire hunk of rock operates and then you can figure out how to fuck with it,” Dirk counters.

“I guess so! What do you think, Dave? Did you have a favorite science?”

You pull a face. “Ew. No.”

You never actually completed anything farther than eleventh grade chemistry, but even then you knew it wasn’t for you.

Your room is a disaster, and John gives you an exasperated look as he and Dirk pick their way through your things.

“Really, Dave? You couldn’t make, I don’t know, piles?”

“I did make piles. Look, pile.” You point at a mound of bed covers you threw off your bed to make room for more clothes to be spread out.

Dirk picks up a glittery, sequenced pink dress and sighs. “Hangers, Bro. You’ll ruin your clothes.”

John’s face reddens as you shrug and watch Dirk hunt in your closet for a hanger. That dress actually isn’t yours, you stole it from one of your SB&HJ sets, but you’re not about to tell John that. It’s precious to see where his mind wanders.

“What is left for you to pack?” John asks, eyeing your four full suitcases by the door.

“I need some night stuff, my makeup, and casual shirts,” you say from inside your bathroom, getting your toiletries together.

“I’ll handle makeup,” Dirk calls.

You walk back into your room with a small bag tucked under your arm and gesture at the shirts on your bed. “That’s what I narrowed it down to. It’ll be cold while I’m there, so these are mostly going to be worn under sweaters and shit.”

“Then why does it matter which ones you bring?” John picks up a shirt and frowns at the faded graphic design on it. “And what is Paradox Space?”

“Band name,” you say distractedly, setting down your bag and picking up another shirt. “And it does matter. Nobody is going to see my panties either but I sure as shit am going to be wearing my nicest, frilliest set while I’m over there.”

John sputters and you keep your expression neutral as you toss a few shirts into your open duffle bag.

“Hey, isn’t this my shirt?” John suddenly says, pulling out a crumpled t-shirt from under your pillow.

You are certain your cheeks are starting to darken as you say with forced nonchalance. “Sure is. A lady always keeps a souvenir, you know that.”

You hear Dirk mutter ‘gross, Bro’ from your vanity.

John just smiles and tosses it at you. “I still have the one I borrowed from you. I don’t see a need to switch back yet though.”

“Nope, no need.” You wait until John turns away before hastily balling it up and shoving it in your duffle bag.

Between the three of you you manage to get the packing done quickly. John makes you clean up the mess you left, and despite your whining you did. Dirk, the little shit, disappeared before you could enlist him in the folding-army.

John decides to drive you to the airport, despite your protests that you can just as easily take a cab.

“It’s fine,” John says, grabbing a suitcase. “Go see if Dirk is coming too.”

You know arguing is futile so you walk over to your brother’s room, knocking before opening the door. He’s got his books out for one of his classes, reading ahead so he can no doubt intellectually bitch-slap everybody else in there.

“Hey kid, John is taking me to the airport. You coming?”

Dirk closes his book and shakes his head. “You still need to talk with him, I can say goodbye here. Besides, I’ll see you in three months for Christmas.” He pauses. “Right?”

“Yeah, of course kid.” You feel an odd sense of déjà vu from back when you’d spend months working in LA, before you managed to sell that shitty studio apartment you left Dirk at during most of his childhood. Guilt twinges in the back of your mind.

“Better send me some cool shit from Italy. Steal a damn fountain or something,” Dirk says, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“I’ll send you an entire damn cathedral.”

“I’ll burn if I touch that.”

“Might want to get that checked, little man. Burning is a good sign of an STD.”

Dirk groans and you feel your mouth twitch upwards in the corner. You’re going to miss messing around with him.

“Listen,” you take your shades off and tuck them in your shirt pocket. “I’ll call every week to make sure you’re still alive. No wild parties. You have the credit card I gave you?”

“Bro, I’m going to be fine, I’ve done this before,” Dirk reminds you, and your expression drops. “I didn’t mean it like that, stop doing the kicked puppy face. Yes mom I have the credit card, only shitty Chinese food and soda.”

“That’s my kid.” You want to hug him, grab him up in your arms like when he was little and give him the most un-ironic brotherly hug in history. Instead you offer him your fist and he bumps it.

“Be safe,” is all Dirk says, and you nod before going back to your room to grab the remaining bags.

John is waiting by the car and you put everything in the back seat before getting in, sighing as you close the door.

“Dirk isn’t coming?”

“No.”

John doesn’t say anything more on the subject and you put your shades back on.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, and you’re staring out the window with a glazed look when John interrupts your daydreams.

“Hey, so, we should maybe talk a bit.”

He sounds nervous, and you are grateful you put your shades back on.

“Okay.”

John gives you a look and then focuses back on the road. “We didn’t really get a chance last night. But maybe we should talk about, um, I guess what we want.”

“Big conversation for a twenty minute drive. Guess it works out though, if the conversation takes a bad turn I’ll be in another country for the next few years so there won’t be any awkward run-ins in the grocery store.”

“You’re rambling,” John says, and you pull it back in.

You’re both silent for a little bit longer, but unlike last time the air feels heavy.

“What do you want?” you finally ask.

John is chewing on his lower lip and you want to kiss him so badly. Instead you watch him gnaw on it until you’re positive he’s going to break the skin before clearing your throat, making him jump.

“Sorry, it’s just, uh, a big question.” John frowns and keeps his eyes on the road. “I know we’ve been together for a couple months and I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“Me too,” you add quickly, and are relieved when you see John smile.

“I really like spending time with you.” John’s voice is quiet but firm, and it makes your chest ache.

“Same,” you say eloquently. “What, uh, what do you want to do?”

John takes an exit, waiting until he’s on the road he wants before finally sighing. “I don’t know. I don’t know when you’ll be back or if we can visit each other. I honestly don’t know much about what’s going on except on the job side of it.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m not very good with stuff like that.” You shift and twist your fingers together, feeling jittery. “Making a movie, writing and all, can take a few years. I’ll visit here of course, I’m not going to make my kid spend Christmas alone again.”

If John’s curious about your last statement, he doesn’t let it show.

“So I’ll be visiting every few months probably. Holidays for sure. Over the summer I might fly his punk ass over to see me.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “You could come too.”

John glances at you. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

You see the signs for the airport coming up and you start to feel caged in. Time is running out and the two of you never actually said what you so desperately wanted to hear. You try to think of how to ask for something this unbelievably selfish, try and find the words, but by the time John pulls up to your airline drop off point you haven’t said a word.

John puts the car in park and helps you get all your shit on a trolley. You hoist your duffle bag on your shoulder and stare at him.

“Well, see you, I guess?” John tries, and you nod.

“Yeah.”

“Call me when you land?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” John nods and turns to go, and you move after him without thought. He pauses and gives you a confused look.

“John, listen, I’m not good at this,” you blurt out, deciding to just wing it. “I’m bad at explaining how I feel or telling people what I need. I mean shit, I didn’t even say goodbye to Dirk. But he gets I’m an emotionally constipated asshole, probably because I fucked up so bad at raising him that he ended up a bit like me. The point I’m trying to make is even though he knows what I tried to say, you don’t. And I don’t want this to end because I was too damn cowardly to actually tell you something important.”

You take a breath, feeling John’s wide eyes on you.

“I want to keep this going. I want to send you shitty postcards from Italy and draw dicks all over them instead of actually telling you that I’m going to miss the hell out of you. I want to call you at night and I want to hear about your day. I want to visit you when I fly back here and I want to bring you and Dirk over to Italy during the summer so we can all be together. I won’t show you anything decent because lord knows I’ll be holed up inside my room the entire time I’m there, rushing to finish the script so I can get back to you.”

You let it all rush out of you in one breath, hoping John can decipher your frantic babbling because your nerves are shot and your hands are actually shaking as you gesture with them. When you finish your chest is heaving and you feel like you just unloaded the biggest emotional backpack off your shoulders.

Unfortunately, you handed it to John.

He’s still staring at you, but now his eyes are oddly bright and he’s got his hand over his mouth and—

“Egbert are you laughing at me.”

“No!” John’s voice squeaks and he coughs. “No it’s just, wow, I didn’t think you were actually going to say it!”

“Say what? Because I’m pretty sure I just verbally vomited my emotions all over you.”

“Gross, Dave,” John laughs, and then suddenly envelops you in a hug. He’s squeezing the life out of you but you’re pretty sure you’re clinging just as hard.

“So…” you whisper tentatively, and his hold tightens on you.

“Of course. I’ll be here waving a white handkerchief when you return, tears glistening in my eyes as I run into your bosom.” John’s voice sounds a little choked but you’re not about to ask if the glistening tears came early.

“Thank god.”

John laughs again, voice higher than normal, and when you both pull apart he’s smiling so large it hurts. “Have a great flight, Dave. Call me when you land.”

“I will.” You lean in and kiss him once, short and sweet because you know if you linger you won’t be able to pull away. 

Your last image of John for the next three months is of him waving goodbye, cheeks flushed and smile bright as you disappear into the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man oh man i had so much fun writing this chapter aaaahhh  
> Please let me know what you think!! I love hearing from ya'll ^u^


	12. Chapter 12

Italy is beautiful, from what you saw on the cab ride to your hotel. You’ve spent the last few weeks holed up inside your room working nonstop with a frenzy that hasn’t hit you since before your first film. It’s not inspiration, per say, but the motivation of knowing that if you do this and give it your all you’ll be home that much faster.

Your room is ridiculous.

You have a master bedroom with a canopy bed facing towards a pair of French doors that open up on a stone balcony. There is ivy crawling up the side of the balcony rails and the view is breathtaking. You have a lavish bathroom with a Jacuzzi style bath and a luxurious rainfall shower.

There’s a door that leads into your living and dining space, which is composed of an overstuffed sofa, two ornate chairs, and coffee table between all of it. Towards the windows is a small, two person table where you usually have all your meals.

You’re not paying for a cent of it either, and you wonder how much it costs to get three meals plus tea delivered to you every day, not to mention them humoring your fixation on apple juice.

“So how is it? Have you gone outside yet?”

You smile at the bright screen of your laptop, drinking in John’s face. It’s night here, which means it’s the afternoon there. Dirk should be home soon from school and you hope to get a few words in with him after this call.

“Not yet. One of my sponsors is taking me to a play this weekend though. I figure we’ll have dinner somewhere and then head over. I’ll let you know.”

“How’s the script coming?”

You chew on your lower lip. He asks this question every time. “Good. There’s a lot to write about. I’m thinking about making this a prequel since I couldn’t come up with any new ideas. It’ll be a story about how SB&HJ became who they are. Backstory, deep personal shit, lots of stairs. Keeping it classic.”

“I bet it’ll be a hit!” John says enthusiastically, and you brush your fingertips over his face on the screen.

“Yeah. Have you heard from Dirk? Little shit barely tells me anything.”

“That’s because you keep asking if he has any friends and it’s embarrassing him.”

“How do you know that?”

John shrugs and you squint suspiciously at him. Your shades are perched on your head, so John can see your red eyes narrow in distrust.

It clicks and you gasp. “Oh my god you’re talking to him.”

“Of course I talk to Dirk,” John says exasperatedly. “You know I do. You specifically asked me to make sure he, and I quote, ‘doesn’t do anything a pure maiden in the 1820’s wouldn’t do’, whatever that means.”

“No, I mean actually talking! John Egbert, does he _tell you things_?”

“Oh my god.”

“Actual things? About his life?” Your face is moving closer to the computer with each word.

“You see, this is why he doesn’t talk to you!”

“Tell me! Does he have friends? Is he happy? Does he resent me for leaving? Does he really like those creepy puppets as much as he says he does or is he doing it out of spite to me?”

“Dave, calm down!” John holds up his hands and laughs. “We don’t talk like that, you know Dirk isn’t the touchy-feely type. We do have conversations but it’s rarely anything important.”

“Rarely. That means it sometimes is,” you press.

John sighs and runs his hand through his hair, a frustrated habit he picked up from you. “Dirk is fine. Everything is fine. LA is not going to burn to the ground without you.”

“Says you,” you mutter glumly.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s home now.”

You pull back and cross your arms. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

John tilts his head, a smirk playing over his features. “You mean you have no idea how and the thought terrifies you.”

“Striders aren’t scared of anything.”

“Except sharing feelings.”

You grimace. “I can share. Look, I’m feeling annoyed that you won’t tell me all of Dirk’s secrets. There. Look at me communicating, I am the poster child of the year for sharing feelings. Those feelings were evenly distributed and handed out to the masses communist style. Every man, woman, and child got some feeling. Karl Marx would be proud.”

“And I’m feeling tired just listening to this. Go call Dirk. I have to organize your weekend anyway.”

Your arms slip down and you scoot closer to the screen again. “Okay. You’ll call me tomorrow?”

“Yes, and the day after that, and the one after that.”

Your lips twitch upwards and you touch the screen gently. “Night, John.”

“Goodnight, Dave.”

The call ends and you sit back with a sigh, feeling an ache in your chest that comes after talking to John. He’s called you every day so far, and you feel like a needy child with how much of his time you take up. You’d try and spread the love to Dirk, but he has a tendency to hang up on you when you start to whine.

Speaking of which, it’s a Friday which means you get to call your kid and get the update on how his week went.

You punch in your home number quickly and wait impatiently while it rings. You’re racking up a small fortune in internet calling costs.

“Hey, Bro,” Dirk greets, and you scoff.

“What if I wasn’t me? I could be some devilishly handsome doppelganger trying to get information out of you. Now I know you call me Bro. I can take that to the bank, kid.”

“Nobody calls here except you and occasionally your boyfriend.”

“Who, apparently, you’re talking to more than your poor brother who’s all alone across the globe, getting fat on olive oil and pasta.”

“Good. You could use a couple extra pounds.”

“Rude! My girlish figure is cause for jealousy even in this country, a few extra pounds means I need to go shopping for new clothes. Sorry kid, no food this week, mommy blew her social security check on this strappy little number. Look, if I bend over you can see my butt!”

“Fantastic,” Dirk deadpans. “Will you stop talking about your ass if I tell you about school?”

“Maybe.”

“I went, I saw, I conquered. The end.”

“You got an A on the test?”

“Better. I got the A on that neuro test and the extra credit questions at the end which gave me a hundred and twenty percent.”

“My baby is a genius. Who knew you had it in you all along? I guess it was only natural you get the brains since I got the beauty.”

Dirk snorts and you grin.

“Yeah, well Ms. America that puts me at top of the class. That’s all but one. Some fucker in my computer science class is still beating me but I have no idea who. She never shows up to class so I don’t know how she’s getting all A’s.”

“My little stalker, already hunting down the competition.”

“Googling a name does not make me a stalker.”

“Does too.”

“You’re ridiculous. I have homework, Bro.”

“Okay fine. Did you find somebody to sit with at lunch?”

“Bye, Bro.”

“Dirk—” you begin, but he hangs up. You’ll take that as a no.

You close out of the calling app you installed and sigh, rubbing your face and glancing at the clock by your elbow. It’s late, but you still want to keep working. There’s a telltale itch under your skin that’s making your finger twitch, and you know that if you just sit here and type it will eventually get out.

So you start working, eyes fixated on the screen as time slips by. The room is quiet save for the constant clacking of keys. Outside, distantly, you hear the sounds of the local nightlife. You hate working on a computer but it makes it a lot easier to send your script to your sugar daddies.

Cars honk and people laugh, gentle music floats on a breeze that pushes longingly against the panes of your closed balcony doors, trying to entice you outside. You are deaf to it all.

You work until your eyes burn and blinking hurts. When you finally pull away it’s the early morning and most signs of life from the outside world have hushed. You save your work and shut your laptop, standing and stretching with a low groan.

Your back pops and you feel old as you pull your clothes off and leave them in a trail on the floor to your bed.

The plush comforter is thrown back and someone put a hot water bottle between the sheets, probably when they came in to clear away your dinner. Most of the heat has faded, but it’s still pleasantly warm when you crawl into bed in your underwear.

The sheets are too soft and the pillows are too fluffy. You’ve never been comfortable with the ultra-lavish lifestyle you tend to find yourself in. Still, a bed is a bed.

You pull the sheets around you and press your face into the pillow, hand searching beside you until you find a soft article of clothing. You bring John’s shirt to your face and smile as the familiar fabric rubs against your cheek.

You fall asleep clutching it to your chest, soothed by its presence.

That night you have a nightmare.

You’ve been having them a few times a week since you got here. You never quite remember what they’re about but they always feel horribly like the past.

You jerk awake in bed to the sound of the main door being opened as someone comes into your other room with breakfast. You’re covered in sweat as the remaining dregs of your nightmare-memory slinks away.

You’re shaking as you fall back in bed, eyes wide as a sick feeling rolls in your gut.

You look at your bedside clock to check the time, realizing you haven’t slept more than five hours.

You debate going back to sleep, but when you roll over and close your eyes you get this nagging feeling that sleep is far from reach. All you think about instead is John, and how every second you spend lying in bed is a second you could be working on your script.

You sit up and throw the sheets off you, deciding to start your day, and the pattern repeats itself for the rest of your time spent in Italy. Your only consolation is knowing that come Christmas, you will be home with your family.

Your mind starts turning with the possibility of surprising Dirk on Christmas. You’d need some help planning it, but when your boyfriend is the master of pranks it’s not fairly difficult to arrange.

That thought is what keeps you driven, and after weeks of exhausting work and sleepless nights, you finally hand your agent the first draft of “SB&HJ: The pre-squirrel”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END :D
> 
> This is where I originally ended the story, but ya'll have been so frickin' wonderful with your comments that I'm going to write an epilogue.   
> So stay tuned for a little extra present!   
> Thank you all for reading, it's been a real treat ^u^


	13. Epilogue

Your bag feels heavy in your hand but your step is light as you bounce up the stairs to your apartment.

You and John have been planning this for a few weeks now, and you don’t think you could have orchestrated it without his sneaky pranking tendencies.

You’re wearing a Santa hat and a red suit, forgoing the sack of toys for a briefcase full of work you needed to get done over your short, week long break in the States. The flight had seemed longer than ever thanks to your jittery nerves.

You swipe into the elevator and press your floor’s button, grinning as the elevator begins to rise. You are so excited for this, and you can’t stop moving around until the doors finally open.

The door unlocks easily and you step inside, throwing your hands up and grinning at the people in your apartment.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Bro?” Dirk asks, shocked as you drop your bag and move into your home.

“Told you I’d come back for Christmas, kid.”

The girl next to him, a girl John has told you a lot about since Dirk refused to, squeals and shoves Dirk at you with more force than either of you expected.

He crashes into you and you take this beautifully presented moment to thoroughly embarrass him in front of his new friend.

“My baby!” you croon, gathering him in your arms and squeezing the life out of him.

“Augh, Bro! Stop!” Dirk struggles weakly until he finally realizes he’s getting a hug and there’s nothing he can do about it.

You look over his head to the girl and grin. “Hi, I’m Dirk’s Bro.”

“Roxy,” she introduces herself with a sly wink, as though she is already in deep cahoots with you. Judging by how quickly she threw Dirk under the proverbial bus, she probably is.

You finally let Dirk go and he grumbles a lot before Roxy punches him in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back? We wouldn’t decorated or some shit.”

“Really?” You arch an eyebrow and Roxy laughs.

“Okay out of the way,” a voice says, and two more people push their way past Roxy and Dirk.

“Rose!” You give her a far gentler hug, and she pats your head when you pull away.

“David. I did tell you that we would see each other around this time of the year.” Her lips are curled upwards with amusement.

“Keeping your threats as always, Rose. Good to see you.” You turn to the other woman beside her, smile still on your lips.

“Kanaya, glad you could come too. I’ve got some stuff from Italy I think you’ll love. Actually I got shit for everyone, but that’s for tomorrow morning.”

“We also have gifts, and Rose had the foresight to bring her own decorations.” Kanaya gestures behind you and you crane your head to see garlands strung elegantly around your home.

“Huh, that’s far tamer than I expected.”

“Kanaya vetoed the shrunken heads I got on a trip to Asia last year. I thought they would light the place up.”

“And I thought they’d give you a heart attack,” Kanaya adds, and you’re deeply grateful for the more traditional decorations.

There’s a knock at the door and Roxy goes to answer it, pulling it open wide and ushering in the new-comer.

You turn to see John walk in, a dusting of snow in his beautiful black hair and his cheeks rosy from the cold. He’s got on a horrendously ugly Christmas sweater and you think you might shed a tear over its ironically awful existence.

“Hi, Dave, sorry I’m late!” John beams, and then laughs when you grab him in your arms and hug him as tightly as you did with Dirk.

“Aw,” Roxy says behind you, and you feel like your entire body is glowing as he hugs you back just as hard.

“Merry almost Christmas,” John whispers, and you pull away with a smile.

“Merry almost Christmas. Now, let’s get this shit started.” You catch his hand in yours and everybody migrates to the living room. You can see everything already set up for your small family Christmas party, and Dirk sticks close to you as you all begin to play catch-up on each other’s lives.

“So where did you two meet?” You ask, turning to Roxy and Dirk.

Dirk mumbles ‘school’ and Roxy rolls her eyes.

“He walked in on me in the computer lab during lunch. I was doing some coding and he was playing hide and seek from the lunch room,” Roxy says brightly, and Dirk tries to elbow her. She blocks him and grins.

“Uh yeah,” Dirk continues, shrugging. “We basically hung out and coded together after that. We’re actually working on a project together right now. She’s the one who was beating my ass in computer science.”

“Still am,” Roxy corrects smugly.

You feel a swell of pride in your chest and resist giving your younger brother a heartfelt shove off the couch.

John wraps an arm around your shoulders and you press into him, sharing a small look between you.

“We’ve also been busy,” Rose says, lacing her fingers together. “David, if you’ll check your stocking tomorrow you’ll find the fruits of my labor have been deposited there.”

“Oh shit you finished it! Congratulations!”

“Thank you. My publisher is already discussing making it a trilogy.” Rose’s voice carries amusement and you congratulate her again.

“How has Italy been, Dave?” Kanaya asks, and you offer a small shrug.

“I’m sure it’s great, I just haven’t seen a lot of it. It’s been constant work, but the food is damn good. Pretty sure I’ve gained ten pounds on olive oil alone. Shit’s like nectar of the gods, fuckin’ pomegranate of the underworld. Didn’t just take one seed though, ate the entire garden like a prize winning pig. Gotta get that blue ribbon, Kanaya. Can’t let the other pigs sense weakness.”

Kanaya’s eyebrows rose. “I see. And the other metaphorical pigs would be…?”

“There is no metaphorical swine, dear,” Rose says, patting her on the knee. “The translation of that discombobulating monologue is he is doing fine though a bit overworked. David, you should try and see some of Italy while you are there.”

“Yeah yeah I know. I’ve got some touristy plans for the summer when these two come up,” you gesture to Dirk and John beside you.

“I’ll get him out of the hotel, don’t worry,” John says pleasantly, and you look at him.

“By that do you mean hide smoke pellets in my bags again? Because the entire hotel had to evacuate when I tried to find some clean underwear.”

John just wiggles his eyebrows while Roxy snorts.

“Come on, Bro, it’ll be fun. We can see armless naked women and go kiss some overweight white guy’s ring.”

“I’ve got Vantas for that,” you grumble, and John nudges you playfully.

You all stay up late talking and trading stories about your year. Kanaya of course asks about how you and John met, and you let him tell that story. You can tell Dirk is listening to it as well, and you sit back and watch as your family laughs at John’s admittance of not knowing who you were during his interview. You also add in a few funny quips from your first not-date, and Roxy throws in some sass about your movies which makes Dirk snicker.

The night stretches on until Rose catches you yawning. She and Kanaya have a hotel just down the street and they both promise to be back tomorrow morning for presents and breakfast. You hug them both and whisper a soft ‘thank-you’ to Rose for coming all the way to California to see you.

She gives you a little extra squeeze and says she’ll bring Christmas cookies tomorrow for everyone shaped like tentacle monsters.

Dirk asks if Roxy can stay since her house is on the other side of town and you agree, figuring she probably sleeps over when you’re not here.

You hear plans of a pillow fort as they vanish into Dirk’s room and you stand there for a minute and allow yourself to feel warm and fuzzy about their friendship.

“Good surprise?” John asks, and you turn to him and hold your arms out.

“The best. How’d you get Dirk to invite Roxy?” You wrap your arms around John as he steps into you, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Pretty easily actually. She mentioned she was going to be alone on Christmas and Dirk just about had an aneurysm. Nobody took a lot of convincing, we all missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you murmur, and then you finally kiss him for the first time in months.

John’s lips are soft and warm, just how you remember. His arms encircle you and hold you against his broad chest, your own arms resting loosely around his neck. You can feel his hands running along your lower back and you part your lips to let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

Months of nothing make every touch seem like electricity, and you aren’t aware you’re pushing into him until John’s back hits your bedroom door.

He feels around for the handle and gets it open, pulling away from you as you both walk in and close the door. John plucks the Santa hat off your head and grins, to which you roll your eyes and work on getting out of the suit. He laughs when you struggle with the belt and then turns red when you threaten to tie him up with it.

“I thought that was more your thing?” He responds, eyebrows arched, and you grumble and toss it away.

You both tumble into bed in your underwear and you wrap your arms around him instantly, relaxing as your feel his lips press against yours.

“I missed you,” he whispers again against your lips, and you try and mumble it back to him without breaking the kiss. He laughs at you and presses you down into the bed, the mattress a lot harder than the one in Italy.

You look up at John, his eyes bright despite the darkness of the room, and you feel like your throat is closing up with what you want to tell him but can’t articulate. So instead you make a small whine in the back of your throat until he kisses you again.

You relax, letting him brush his lips along yours and then down your jaw to your neck. You suck in a breath as he presses a kiss to your pulse, already painfully turned on just by having him on top of you.

“How long are you staying?” His lips tickle your throat as he moves to the other side your neck.

“About a week— _ah!_ ” You jerk up as he bites you, the small shock of pain making you ache deeply for him. “Going to give me marks to last until then? Pretty sure the Italian press would think it’s a badge of honor.”

“And I’m pretty sure that’s somehow offensive,” John murmurs against your neck, and you snicker.

You move your hands up into his hair, tangling them in it and sighing as you bring him in for another kiss. You nudge your thigh up between his legs and moan when he grinds slowly into it. Your tongue traces the seam of his lips and you feel lightheaded when he parts them for you, letting you slip inside.

“John,” you practically purr his name as you press you thigh up into his growing erection, pulling back to watch him as he moans softly above you. Your hands move along his bare chest, tracing his body like you did the night before you left. It feels better than you remember, and you push John off and climb on top of him, determined to map out his body in loving detail.

“Dave, what are you— _oh_ ,” John’s question falters off in a gasp as you start kissing his body, and he makes the sweetest sounds when you tongue swipes over his nipples. His hand is in your hair, gently running through the thin blond locks as you kiss and lick your way down his chest.

John makes a series of small, needy sounds as you kiss your way down to the growing bulge in his underwear, shuddering when you place a kiss on it. You smirk up at him and he tugs your hair in mock irritation.

“Careful John, I’m still your boss.” Your smirk grows as you kiss his erection again, feeling his hips twitch up into you.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Strider,” John replies, amusement coloring his voice as he meets your hungry look with one of his own.

There’s a thump from somewhere in your apartment and you lift your head when you hear muffled giggling from the general direction of Dirk’s room. “Hey, want to move this party elsewhere?”

John raises his eyebrows, looking a little disoriented at your sudden retreat. “Um, sure. Where?”

You grin and get off the bed, getting rid of your underwear as you walk towards your bathroom. You hear John behind you as your walk across the cold tile, heading for your bathtub. When you bought the place, you didn’t have a lot of criteria except one important thing; the bathroom.

Your bathtub takes up almost half of it, and you turn on the two facets full blast as John closes the door behind him. The noise of running water muffles any noise you two might make, and with a grin you beckon John over.

He comes over immediately, placing his hands on your chest and backing you up until you hit the wall next to your large tub. He’s got that look on his face that you love, a mixture of coy amusement and deviousness that makes your spine tingle and your cheeks darken.

“Plan this out?” His lips brush your neck as he speaks, pressing chaste kisses down to your collarbone while your squirm.

“Um, no? You’re the planner, mnh, remember? I can’t plan, _ahhh_ , a lunch date without some sort of disaster.” You whine when he bites you, head falling back and knocking against the wall. “Ow. Concussion. See? Disaster.”

A puff of laughter tickles your jaw, and then John finally moves to kiss you. You moan shamelessly when his body firmly presses you into the cold wall, hands flying to his back in an effort to hold him there.

The rush of water beside you is helping muffle your noises, but you still try and keep it down as he mercilessly grinds into you, hands rubbing and gripping their way down your body. He’s more demanding now, more confident, and you can’t even begin to articulate how much it turns you on.

John is moving down your body again, following his hands down your chest, stomach, and settling by your hips. You feel a little winded already from this much exposure to him after months, and when he suddenly takes your cock in your mouth you make the most unattractive choking noise.

John pulls away and looks up at you, fingers curled around the base of your cock. “You okay?”

Your face is burning and you want to hide and at the same time beg him to do it again. “Yeah, fine, fit as a fiddle, a fiddle who hasn’t been played in a while and needs some retuning. Maybe some new gloss so he feels as pretty as the younger fiddles— _oh fucking hell, John!_ ”

“Mmm?” John hums around your cock as your hands fly to his head, tangling in his hair and holding on for dear life as he runs the flat of his tongue along the underside of your cock. He’s doing this on purpose, cunning bastard, and you couldn’t care less because it feels so incredibly good.

“Oh, oh god, oh yes, fuck,” you pant, legs starting to shake as John sucks you back into his mouth. He draws back and rolls his tongue over the head of your cock, making you draw in a sharp breath before he takes you back down to his hand again.

“John, oh god, John wait stop stop, holy shit,” you’re a babbling mess of pleas as his tongue runs over you one last time before drawing back.

“Yeah?”

John’s voice makes you groan. It’s breathless and rough and his lips are pink and swollen from sucking on your cock and you literally can’t take it anymore. You slide down the wall so you can kneel in front of him, clinging to him as you kiss him fiercely. He moans into your mouth and you eagerly push your tongue into his, tasting hints of yourself in his kiss.

“Fuck, Dave,” John moans, and pulls back briefly so you can sit properly before climbing into your lap. He wraps his legs around you, grinding his cock against yours as you clutch at his shoulders and chant breathlessly for more.

“Dave, oh god yes, Dave, you feel so good, fuck, mngh,” John’s voice is shaky and low in your ear, and your hand fumbles between you until your cool fingers wrap around the both of you. His voice hitches and you groan his name into his shoulder, working your hand over both of your cocks, still slick from his saliva and your pre-come.

You can feel your release tightening in your gut and John’s mouth on your neck partnered with his beautiful moans is sending you rapidly towards the edge. You feel his hand join yours, stroking you both faster and rougher and that’s all it takes before you’re spilling over.

John goes still in your arms and then buries his face in your shoulder, moaning as he finishes along with you.

You lie there on the now sticky tile, head leaning against the wall and panting as you come slowly down from your high. You feel John move to get off you and you automatically reach for him with your clean hand, holding him there.

“Dave, I know I’m heavy,” John murmurs, sounding as relaxed as you feel.

“You’re not,” you mumble back, eyes closed.

“Dave you’re a twig, let me off,” John jokes, finally sliding off you and then pulling you into his lap. You grin, happy with this new position.

“Hey, the bath is still running. Should we turn it off?” John’s clean hand is running through your hair, making it very hard to focus on what he’s saying.

“Mm…yeah, but we should get in it. Wash off and stuff.”

“Sounds good.”

John carefully maneuvers you off his lap and you stand shakily, groaning as you stretch. You wash your hand off in the sink and then slip into your tub.

The moan that leaves your mouth makes John shoot you an amused look, but you ignore him in favor of sinking down until the water reaches your chin.

John joins you a moment later, shoving you unceremoniously to the side and ignoring your half-assed bitching until he finally pulls you back into his lap.

You both are quiet for a bit, cuddling in the warm water and the afterglow. His hand is on your thigh and your face is pressed against the side of his neck. You are pretty sure this is what heaven would feel like.

“You should come back with me,” you finally murmur, and John contemplates it like this isn’t the hundredth time you’ve asked.

“I can visit in the summer,” he finally says, and you kiss his neck. “I’ll fly over with Dirk so he doesn’t try and take over the plane. He’d probably insist he’d do a better job of flying it.”

“Yeah, sounds right. I actually drove him to LA rather than fly when we moved out here. Took almost a week.”

John laughs quietly and then wraps his arms around you, holding you close. The water sloshes gently and you kiss his neck again.

“Hey…”

“Hey?” John echoes back, voice soft and playful.

“When does your rent end? Is it per year?” Your voice still sounds groggy, but you’re starting to come back to life as he hums in your hair.

“Yeah, per year. Why?”

“I dunno, I was just thinking that when I came back we’ll have been dating for like, years.” You play with your fingers and John hums again, your cheeks starting to redden again. Damn pasty skin. “And, uh, you and Dirk get along super well.”

“Mhm,” John says unhelpfully, kissing your head.

“Uh, yeah. So. Y’know. Maybe consider, not renting? Like, I’m not telling you to buy that tiny house somebody croaked in, shit is probably haunted and I don’t need that crap in my life. Ghosts most definitely will haunt me knowing my luck. Like, you live there but I bet they’ll ignore you in favor of going after my ass.”

“Dave, you’re rambling again,” John says brightly, and you dissolve into muttering. “Was there a point you wanted to make? About ghosts?”

“Yep. Your house is definitely haunted and therefor dangerous. You should live in a newer building that isn’t haunted.”

“Really? Like where?”

“Well,” you clear your throat, wondering if John can hear your pulse hammering away. “This place is pretty new.”

“It is,” John says, and you groan.

“Stop making this impossible!”

He giggles, holding you tighter when you try and splash him. “Sorry, sorry! You’re just so funny when you try and ask me big questions. It’s cute.”

“Fine. Be haunted. See if I care.”

John openly laughs, and you can’t help the little grin that tugs on the corners of your mouth. “So you want me to move in with you and Dirk?”

“When I get back,” you quickly clarify.

“When you get back,” John nods, and then finally lets you twist around to face him. He’s got that coy smile playing across his lips, and you lean in to kiss it off.

He kisses you back, soft and sweet. It makes your pulse start jackhammering and you can’t believe that a simple kiss from him still does that to you. It doesn’t make sense but you love it. You love him. And when you pull away you know he feels the same, which is why you are already smiling before he agrees.

You both sit in the bath for a while, talking softly about the future while John plays with your hair. After a bit you get out and drain the tub. You both dry off and head to bed, later to be awakened by the rest of your family barging in to wake you. You’ll both join the sounds of everyone bustling around to get Christmas morning going, and you’ll spend every second of Christmas with John on one side of you and Dirk on the other.

And much, much later, you’ll find yourself buying two tickets to fly your favorite people out to Italy for a little family vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE YOU GO FRIENDS :D
> 
> Now it's officially over haha.  
> Please leave any last thoughts you have, I loved hearing from ya'll throughout this!  
> Thank you for sticking with me through this ^u^
> 
> EDIT:  
> Hello friends! The lovely tumblr user Dafydd KOFA made some fanart!! Here's the link to the page: http://dafyddbernard.tumblr.com/post/146938720297/tuesday-july-5th-favorite-au-based-off-of-this  
> THANK YOU ^u^

**Author's Note:**

> Wow so this was supposed to be a simple one-shot but it's turned into a monster. I'll update regularly!  
> Please let me know what you think!


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